Twenty years in Roumania

By Maude Rea Parkinson

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Title: Twenty years in Roumania

Author: Maude Rea Parkinson

Release date: October 13, 2025 [eBook #77048]

Language: English

Original publication: London: George Allen & Unwin, Ltd, 1921

Credits: Peter Becker, Terry Jeffress, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWENTY YEARS IN ROUMANIA ***





TWENTY YEARS IN ROUMANIA




 TWENTY YEARS
 IN ROUMANIA

 BY

 MAUDE PARKINSON

 [Illustration: Publisher’s colophon]

 LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN, LTD.
 RUSKIN HOUSE, 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C. 1




_First published in 1921_




PREFACE


Now that I have set down in black and white these random impressions
and recollections of a country in which I spent many of the happiest
years of my life, a slight feeling of doubt assails me. Might my
Roumanian friends possibly find cause for offence in the freedom which
I have allowed myself? Then I remember that they have a sense of
humour, and the doubt vanishes.

If I deal frankly with some of the methods and customs of the country,
it is because I hope to give English readers an insight into the
character of the people, and enable them to find there, as I have
found, a very great deal to love.

When, after my long absence from England, I compare our own methods
and ways of thought with those which have become so familiar to me in
Roumania, the latter do not always suffer in the comparison. Indeed, if
I wrote about some of the things which have especially struck me since
my return, I might arouse a good deal of resentment.

Some of the best friends I have in the world are Roumanians. The
kindness and sympathy they showed me during a time of great sorrow
in my life must be an enduring memory. Rather than be suspected of
repaying such kindness by holding up my friends to ridicule, I would
tear up these pages which I--a tyro in the art of letters--have
written with so much labour, but also, I must add, with so much
pleasure.

After completing my education in Germany, I spent some time very
happily in Vienna with friends who were well acquainted with Roumania.

I became fascinated by their descriptions of life in a country which
for me had something of the glamour of the Orient, and so, armed with
letters of introduction, I proceeded to Bucarest and soon established
myself as a teacher of languages. For the twenty-two following years of
my life I lived in Roumania; but for the war I should probably be there
now.

My relations with my pupils, members of the best-known families in
the country, were always of the pleasantest, and as Roumanians have a
natural aptitude for languages, there was no drudgery in the teaching.

Since I left the country Roumania has come through a time of terrible
trial.

My heart has often been wrung by the accounts of the sufferings of my
friends; but even during the darkest days of the war I was sustained
by the knowledge that they never once lost courage. They displayed a
spirit as indomitable as our own, and now I rejoice that their fiery
trial is over, and that the dawn of a glorious day has arrived.

                                                MAUDE REA PARKINSON.

ARMAGH, 1921.




CONTENTS


                                                                   PAGES

 CHAPTER I                                                         17-23

 A real enterprise--The glamour of the _Arabian
     Nights_--Off to an unknown country--Light on the
     way--A friend at court--I figure as a Nihilist--The
     Hungarian “express”--Wild men in sheep-skins--An
     intruder routed--Bucarest, a dreadful town--Adventures
     by flood and street--A warm reception.


 CHAPTER II                                                        24-33

 Hazy ideas about Roumania--“Bucarest, Turkey”--A letter
     for Sinaia goes to Simla--The physical features of
     the country--Its mineral wealth--The chief towns--The
     Cernavoda Bridge--The railways and the scenery through
     which they pass--The mighty Danube--The Iron Gates.


 CHAPTER III                                                       34-42

 The Government of Roumania--The Parliament--Lively
     elections--The batiusi and their big sticks--Military
     picnics at election times--“General Post” after
     an election--Party handwriting--Natural selection
     circumscribed for postal officials--The army--A
     soldier’s life not always a happy one--Military
     marketers, nurses, and spring-cleaners--The accession
     celebrations--On parade--The opposition goes into
     mourning and enjoys a happy day--Threatening
     demonstrations which end happily--A gallant army--If
     stiff on parade, the Roumanian soldier is “one of the
     best.”


 CHAPTER IV                                                        43-52

 The religion of Roumania--The head of the Church must
     be a monk, and therefore a celibate--The priests
     are of the peasant class, unlearned and little
     respected--A priest’s monthly rounds--Prayers for
     a girl’s marriage--St Demetre the patron saint of
     Bucarest--His vocation as a rain-maker--He is brought
     out when the priests see the rain coming--Roumanian
     churches--The legend of Curtea d’Argesh--The well of
     Manole’s wife’s tears--Easter customs--The Roumanian
     monasteries: dens for lazy people--A wonderful
     grotto--The convents--Princess Marie as a nun.


 CHAPTER V                                                         53-58

 Roumania’s capital--A garden city--Modesty on the
     trams--“A town of one street, one church, and one
     idea”--The Calea Victorie--Two hundred churches--The
     church of Doamna Balash--English customs gaining
     headway--The houses of Bucarest--Afternoon calls and
     refreshments--The fortifications.


 CHAPTER VI                                                        59-66

 The land system--The Dominele or squirearchy--The simple
     life of the peasants--The beginning of a revolt--A
     premature outbreak--The countryside in flames--King
     Carol’s new guns first used on his subjects--A
     village population exterminated--Terror in the
     town--I go to church and am relieved to see Princess
     Marie there--The tale of a sufferer--The priests
     and schoolmasters the instigators--The peasants’
     subterranean dwellings.


 CHAPTER VII                                                       67-71

 Village scenes--National dances--The picturesque peasant
     costumes--Peasant girls who powder and paint--An
     idyllic scene--A country wedding--Peasant simplicity.


 CHAPTER VIII                                                      72-81

 Trade and commerce--The only strictly Roumanian shops
     belong to Princes--No English shops, though they would
     be welcomed--English catalogues unintelligible--An
     English firm and its “standard” colour--A successful
     English factory--The labour question, saints’
     days and names-days--German factories--Beer
     taxed in the interests of wine--Sugar and cheese
     factories--Sheep-milking--Petroleum wells in
     Roumania--An influx of Americans--Rockefeller’s
     agent, Mr Chamberlain, and his family--How a
     man of gipsy origin “struck oil” and became a
     millionaire--Paper-mills and coal-mines.


 CHAPTER IX                                                        82-88

 Severe restrictions on Jews--The Jews as traders--Their
     vigorous methods--They exploit the peasants of the
     countryside as wine-shopkeepers and moneylenders--The
     Jews as tenants of estates sublet at rack rents--The
     original proprietor cannot see that he has any share
     of responsibility for the grinding down of the
     peasants--An anti-Jewish riot in the Lipscani--A
     family of Paris Jews make a large fortune in a
     fashionable shop in a few years--A Jewish wedding
     which is a double one.


 CHAPTER X                                                         89-96

 The educational system--Long hours of study and no
     fresh air or exercise--Take Jonescu, as Minister of
     Education, introduces the bath-tub to the schools
     and provides for walking exercise--School fare is
     never good--A water famine--Examinations and show
     questions--English poetry translated literally--German
     literature taught in _French_, the pupils being
     examined in _Roumanian_--Lack of books in the
     Roumanian language--The school fêtes--Convents and
     proselytising--A girl who despised all the pleasures
     of the world and ran away to become a nun.


 CHAPTER XI                                                       97-102

 Take Jonescu, an enlightened Minister of Education--“La
     bouche d’or”--His personality--A true Roumanian in his
     almost Oriental love of luxury--His town and country
     houses--Madame Jonescu an as authoress--Her menagerie
     of pets--The love-story of Take Jonescu--The meeting
     of the law student and the English girl--A trip to
     England follows--Obstacles are overcome and a happy
     marriage follows.


 CHAPTER XII                                                     103-111

 The National Theatre--The students’ riot on behalf of
     the national language--Racing as a fashionable
     amusement--English jockeys and trainers--The Battle of
     Flowers--The devotees of the card-table--Rafting on
     the Bistritza; a glorious sport.


 CHAPTER XIII                                                    112-115

 The blessing of the waters: a picturesque ceremony--Diving
     for the cross--Baptising the Jew--The child
     rain-makers; a charming custom--How I watered the
     human plants--The peasants celebrate the sowing of the
     seed.


 CHAPTER XIV                                                     116-120

 Festivals--A cruel christening--Marriage-making--The
     fiancé a bore--The bride’s moral references--Anonymous
     letters--The bridal dress--The marriage ceremony--A
     floral departure--Hired jewellery as wedding
     presents--Child brides--Tempted to the altar with a
     doll!


 CHAPTER XV                                                      121-128

 Pretty Roumanian women--Adventitious aids to beauty--Paris
     toilets--Childish extravagances--Men with London
     tailors--A dandy in blue boots--Some quaint
     superstitions--Warding off the evil eye--The efficacy
     of hot coals and a cup of water--The Marțisoara, or
     March token--A wife’s indiscretion punished: story
     of poetic justice--The Marțisoara as a temperamental
     barometer.


 CHAPTER XVI                                                     129-133

 English nurses introduce the bath-tub--Matutinal ablutions
     in a country house--Abstinence from ablutions a proof
     of holiness--The funeral of a Metropolitan; dead
     prelate in the procession--Afternoon tea’s equivalent
     in a tomb.


 CHAPTER XVII                                                    134-143

 The servant question not so acute as in
     England--Establishments of thirty servants--Five or
     six for professional people--Terms and duties of
     service--An unwilling bather--A highly recommended
     maid who waited at table barefooted--The reference
     books of servants--The servants’ quarters--A strange
     privilege; female servants may have their husbands
     or putative husbands and their families to live with
     them--Costly marriage fees are prohibitive--“Madam”
     and “Madame”--Linguistic pitfalls; a “master” or a
     “cake”?--When a bald-headed cook is wanted--Leaving
     cards on names-days--An omnibus round.


 CHAPTER XVIII                                                   144-150

 Convict life in the salt mines--A Roumanian Jack
     Sheppard--The trick that laid him low--Procedure in
     murder cases--The reconstruction of the crime--Scant
     justice for servants; no Habeas Corpus Act in
     Roumania--A man whose face was the only evidence
     against him--Gipsies and the building trade; the
     men act as masons and bricklayers, the women as
     their labourers--Exhibition of new clothes when a
     roof is put on--Fiddling ragamuffins--Gipsies as
     musicians--Guarding against gipsies in the Carpathians.


 CHAPTER XIX                                                     151-158

 King Carol as a diplomat--Lichnowsky as a Secretary of
     Legation--The scandal about his chief’s (Prince
     von Bülow) wife--I see something at Bad Hall--A
     great ladies’ man; he goes too far at length and is
     “promoted” to another sphere--Kiderlein-Wächter,
     genial and popular--An unfortunate dinner-party over
     which his housekeeper presided--Prince Gulochowski
     and his wife--Some British ambassadors: Sir Frank
     Lascelles and Sir Charles (now Lord) Hardinge--How
     the latter rendered me a great service--Sir Henry
     Drummond Wolff--Sir John Kennedy and Lady Kennedy and
     their family--Better times for the British colony--The
     British colony--Its religious interests--Bishop
     Collins and his visits to Bucarest--His tragic end
     deeply regretted--Since the war Bucarest has many more
     British visitors--A British Chamber of Commerce, and a
     projected club.


 CHAPTER XX                                                      159-166

 The French colony--An outspoken abbé--The German
     colony--Its schools, churches, and hospitals--A split
     in the camp of deaconesses--Teaching or nursing?--A
     well-conducted hospital--Roumanian hospitals--An
     eminent surgeon, Dr Thomas Jonescu--An erratic
     American dentist--His exclusive practice--Leaves a
     Prince waiting with open mouth whilst he goes on a
     trip to Sinaia.


 CHAPTER XXI 167-171

 The coming of King Carol--Roumanians dislike the
     Germans and _hate_ the Hungarians--King Carol a
     reticent, self-contained, lonely man--His only
     public appearances--A ball for the _hoi polloi_--King
     Carol’s father his sole adviser--His desire to
     abdicate--Roumania owes much to the late King.


 CHAPTER XXII                                                    172-180

 Queen Elizabeth (Carmen Sylva)--An early dilemma: no
     divorcees, no court--A quaint divorce story--The true
     story of the meeting of Carol and Elizabeth--Did
     she love the country or its King?--Her dead child’s
     tomb--The Queen as a writer--Her passion for
     music--Pity the poor professional!--Cold soup for the
     King--The Queen’s personal appearance--Her asylum for
     the blind, and the German manager who failed--“My
     sixtieth birthday,” and how it was spent--The Queen
     and the _enfants terribles_--The orphans of the “Asyle
     Hélène”--Cotroceni and its unlucky palace.


 CHAPTER XXIII                                                   181-184

 Ferdinand of Sigmaringen becomes heir to the throne--He is
     a good soldier and a favourite with his officers--The
     friend of the Allies--His marriage with Princess
     Marie--The Princess’s home-coming: a lonely
     stranger--A gala performance--The Prince’s mission to
     Germany--Roumanian officers meet half a dozen Herr
     “Mahlzeits.”


 CHAPTER XXIV                                                    185-190

 The Princess in a merry mood--How Prince Ferdinand
     deluged the tablecloth--A curtain lecture for
     Princess Marie?--The royal children--Elizabeth
     a beauty--Mignonne (Marie) “a beautiful little
     snow-maiden,” yet piquant and merry--Ileana of
     the china-blue eyes has a great idea of her own
     importance--Prince Carol, a fine fellow, learns
     politeness--He and Elizabeth eat raw carrots in the
     Minister’s garden--A war game with Pat Kennedy, when
     neither would be a Boer--Pretty Prince Nicolas, “a
     little terror”--Nicolas as a sailor--His watch on deck
     and his sea-strut--An adventure at Piræus--A sailor
     valet--Nicolas’s first communion and his struggle with
     the bread--The royal governesses--A little story about
     the Queen of Holland.


 CHAPTER XXV                                                     191-197

 Winter in Roumania--Fêtes on the ice--An “escaped
     bear” causes a sensation, till he loses his
     head--Prince Carol establishes the bob-sleigh as
     a society craze--An unlucky accident to Princess
     Elizabeth--An end to bob-sleighing--Sleighs and winter
     costumes--Christmas--New Year’s Eve.


 CHAPTER XXVI                                                    198-205

 Sinaia and its summer Court--Gay life in the
     Carpathians--Court ladies in national costume--Sinaia
     at various seasons--The monastery and the Queen’s room
     there; she decorates it with caricatures of society
     ladies--A fête at the monastery--King Edward at
     Sinaia--Lord Roberts a guest there--The Crown Prince’s
     residence--Princess Marie’s “cuib” or “Crusoe”
     amongst the trees--Her sister, the Grand Duchess of
     Hesse--Little Princess Ella--A merry party in the
     woods--A tragedy recalled.


 CHAPTER XXVII                                                   206-212

 Franz d’Este and his morganatic wife at Sinaia--My
     recollection of him at Vienna--Society girls with cold
     feet--The German Crown Prince popular at Bucarest--But
     he was only there a fortnight--The King and his
     “shadowers”--Predeal--The leap over the frontier--A
     little smuggling--A beautiful and historic road.


 CHAPTER XXVIII                                                  213-221

 A delightful equestrian excursion--We leave Sinaia in
     order to witness the sunrise from Omul--Midnight
     in the forest, and the ghostly hours before the
     dawn--Gathering edelweiss whilst we await the
     sunrise--A glorious spectacle--The coveted province
     spread out before our eyes--An equestrian quadrille
     on the summit of Omul--The guest-house of the
     monastery--On the homeward way--We descend the Jeppi
     on foot, and meet with unexpected difficulties--Danger
     follows upon danger--A dreadful night on a mountain
     peak--Excitement at Sinaia--Triumphant return of the
     “heroes” and “heroines.”


 CHAPTER XXIX                                                    222-227

 Cholera in Russia--I hurry back to Roumania--I am
     put in quarantine on the frontier, and liberally
     disinfected--The soldier guard aims his gun at me--My
     Jewish room-mate and her obtrusive husband--She plays
     “patience” whilst he prays and expectorates--I get my
     release and send a military expedition in search of
     a mirror--Miss R. tries to escape from Russia--Her
     companion, a German engineer, develops cholera--The
     terrified peasants place them together in an empty
     cottage--The German dies--She finds when, after a
     terrifying experience, she reaches Bucarest her hair
     is snow white.


 CHAPTER XXX                                                     228-238

 The beggars of Bucarest--A plan that failed--Was it
     inspired by Count Rumford’s Munich scheme?--Where
     the beggars spend their holidays--No lack of
     charity--Footless, and yet wanted boots--Influence
     of priests and beggars on the currency--A stroll
     through the market--Serbians as market gardeners--An
     exhibition in Bucarest--Princess Marie and the
     water-chute--Excessive gambling--The Moși--English
     “stupidity”--Nothing to buy in London--Bucarest to
     London _via_ the North Sea and Edinburgh--Jefferson
     Bricks in Bucarest.


 CHAPTER XXXI                                                    239-245

 Roumania’s early history--Michael the Brave--Stephen the
     Great--A Spartan mother--Brancovan’s noble efforts
     bring about his end--Oppression promotes union--Greek
     extortion--Russia and Turkey--The westernising
     of Roumania--The Treaty of Paris--The European
     Commission--The new State of Roumania--Prince Cuza and
     his fall--The siege of Plevna--Roumania’s present aims.


 CHAPTER XXXII                                                   246-250

 Turkish influence on Roumanian mind and manners--The
     origin of the people--Clearly descended from the
     Romans of Trajan’s day--Collateral evidence of Latin
     origin in the language--Pride of race--Transylvania
     and the Hungarian tyrants--A Roumanian National party.


 CHAPTER XXXIII                                                  251-255

 Roumania’s object in the war--Hungary’s attempt
     to Magyarise Transylvania--Sympathy of the
     Motherland--“Awake, Roumania!”--The new boundaries
     of Roumania--Room for her people--The Little
     Entente--Safeguarding the peace of Europe.




TWENTY YEARS IN ROUMANIA




CHAPTER I

 A real enterprise--The glamour of the _Arabian Nights_--Off to an
     unknown country--Light on the way--A friend at Court--I figure as
     a Nihilist--The Hungarian “express”--Wild men in sheep-skins--An
     intruder routed--Bucarest, a dreadful town--Adventures by flood
     and street--A warm reception.


When I announced my intention of going to Roumania, I occasioned real
consternation amongst my friends. “Why, you must be quite mad to think
of going so far away to a country of which nobody knows anything at
all!” was one of the mildest criticisms of my project.

The year was 1889--more than thirty years ago; and thirty years is
not only a long period in the life of an individual, but it may make
momentous changes in the story of a nation or of a country.

I will confess that it did seem a rash undertaking for a girl to
venture so far afield into the unknown; but the enterprise had no
terrors for me. I was already an accomplished traveller. I had
“finished” at Magdeburg, visited Paris and Brussels, and spent more
than a year in Vienna. I had been used to speaking French and German
rather than English for several years; and, for the rest, I was an
Irish girl, and timidity is not a fault which I have ever heard charged
against the people of my country. Then, again, I did know something
about Roumania, if my friends did not. It was very little indeed,
I grant, but it was enough to make me anxious to learn more. Some
Viennese acquaintances of mine had visited Bucarest, and from them I
had gained an alluring impression of a wonderful race of people, rich
in the primitive virtues, dwelling in a charming country and amidst
scenes of Oriental luxury. I will frankly admit that the glamour of the
_Arabian Nights_ was over all my thoughts and ideas about Roumania.
Perhaps I was not so very far astray.

My intention was to establish myself in Bucarest in an independent
way as a teacher of languages. I felt that I was pretty well equipped
for the work, and I had been told that there was ample scope for my
endeavour, and that I would find the remuneration far more liberal than
nearer home.

This was all very encouraging, but with the canniness becoming an
Ulsterwoman I determined to secure a definite engagement, so that I
might find a footing in the country. I was at this time at home in
Ireland, and I wrote to the best-known agencies in London. None of
them could help me. They all seemed to have the haziest kind of ideas
about Roumania. One agent wrote to say that they only covered Europe in
their work! Even at that time it was against my will that I was obliged
to apply to Germany, but in the event it was a Dresden agency which
procured for me an appointment at a private school in Bucarest.

It was necessary for me to proceed to Dresden in order to conclude
the agreement, and I was astonished to find that I could obtain no
information there as to how I should get to Roumania. Even at the
hotel I was informed that there was no train communication with the
remote place, and that I should be obliged to journey down the Danube.
Indeed, the information given me was so vague and contradictory
that I began to feel just a trifle nervous. Once started, however,
nothing short of some convulsion of nature on my line of route (when
discovered) could have deterred me. Besides, I looked for help in
Vienna, whither I was bound in response to an invitation from a family
with whom I had resided for some time as governess. The family--that
of Colonel von Walzel--remained my lifelong friends, and many long and
happy visits have I paid them during the years that have passed since
then. Let me just say here that Austrians are _not_ Germans; I shall
offer evidence of this further on. Colonel von Walzel was an important
official of the Court Chamberlain’s Department under Prince Hohenlohe,
and I may remark in passing that on my innumerable journeys to and fro
during these long years, I have never paid a halfpenny for railway
fare when passing through Austrian territory. That is an advantage of
having--as I very literally had--a friend at Court, for Colonel von
Walzel always provided me with a first-class pass. I had many other
privileges in Vienna, not the least of which was a box at the opera
whenever I wanted one. It has nothing to do with my present story, but
perhaps it might be well for me to refer here to a matter which might,
conceivably, sometime occasion a misunderstanding. Colonel von Walzel’s
brother is a well-known playwright, and was always a very good friend
of mine. In one of his dramas, popular quite recently, there figures a
Russian Nihilist Princess who desires to pass as an Englishwoman. The
author may have meant to pay me a compliment or he may simply have had
little acquaintance with English nomenclature, but at any rate he made
his Princess call herself “Maude Parkinson,” and I have been told that
my poor name has become quite familiar amongst the play-loving Viennese
as typifying a certain kind of feminine subtlety which I cannot claim
to possess.

Furnished with full instructions (and a free pass to the confines of
Austro-Hungarian territory), I resumed my journey eastward. Travelling
through Hungary is never very pleasant or interesting, and I soon grew
tired of it, though my pass procured for me great deference everywhere.
It became very monotonous on that long journey, gazing out of a window
at a never-changing panorama of maize flats, with here and there a
field of other grain. The wayside stations brought some relief, for
here there were crowds of wild-looking unkempt natives dancing and
singing to the invariable accompaniment of a mouth organ! These rude
scenes led me to think that I was in truth leaving civilisation behind.

The train--which was an express from Vienna--slackened its pace so
much after leaving Budapest that I mortally offended the guard by
asking him in all good faith if it were a slow train. He replied in
a very dignified manner, “Why, of _course_ it is an express; we have
travelled--so many--kilometres since leaving Budapest.” I was not
convinced of the speed of the train, as it is a well-known fact that
Hungarian trains are the slowest in Europe. I have heard that a line
running out of London contests this claim, but I have not sufficient
information on the subject to institute a comparison.

When we reached the Roumanian frontier I really became a little alarmed
for the first time. It was in the early hours of the morning, when
one’s courage is at zero, and the crowds of strange-looking beings,
clad in woolly sheep-skins, which thronged the station, appeared to me
like denizens of another or an earlier world. Nevertheless, I was at
once reminded of the old Irish jingle about Bryan O’Lynn, who’d “no
breeches to wear, so he bought a sheep’s skin to make him a pair.”

Our luggage was examined here, and afterwards I returned to the ladies’
compartment in which I had been travelling, and which I shared with
another. I fell asleep again, but just before dawn some slight noise
disturbed me, and I opened my eyes to find a man seated in a corner
of the carriage and calmly regarding us. I opened my mouth almost as
soon as my eyes, and indignantly informed him in English, French, and
German that he was in a ladies’ carriage, and had better get out of it
as quickly as ever he could. Which language it was that frightened him
I cannot tell; it may have been the tone of my address, but at any rate
he fairly bolted.

We entered Bucarest by Verciorova, and my first impressions were
disheartening. There was nothing about the surrounding country to
prepossess me in its favour. It was flat and uninteresting, just like
Hungary. The peasants who swarmed about were wild-looking and very
dirty. My fellow-passenger had strongly advised me to go straight to
the British Minister and present my credentials, and I had a good mind
to follow her advice. However, I did not immediately do so.

There had been some mistake about the hour of my arrival, and so no one
met me at the station. I procured a carriage, and handed the address to
the driver.

“What a dreadful town!” I thought, as I was driven at a speed
reminiscent of the Dublin jarvey through narrow, atrociously paved
streets, filled--both as to road and footway--with half-melted snow.
The month was February, and when I arrived the climatic conditions were
at their worst, which was pretty bad in Bucarest. Some of the streets
were quite unpaved; few, apparently, had any system of drainage, for
extensive floods frequently rendered the roadway impassable for foot
passengers.

Later on I heard the story of an adventure which befell an English
lady--also a teacher--just before my arrival. She had been giving
lessons in a Jewish family who were reluctant payers, and had been
obliged to demand her money with some firmness. Out of spite they
paid her the amount--a considerable sum--in copper coins! which taxed
the resources of an unusually large bag. Confronted with a street in
flood, and hampered by her unwieldy wealth, she found herself at a
twilight hour in an awkward predicament. Not a carriage was in sight.
She appealed to a sturdy youth who was passing, and offered him a
reward if he would carry her across the street. The boy promptly picked
her up (she was a little woman), bag and all, but in mid-stream--or
street--she attempted to change her bag from one hand to the other.
The swinging weight robbed the boy of his centre of gravity, and he
and his fair burden fell floundering in the flood. He fished her out
again and carried her ashore before searching for the treasure. This,
however, he was fortunate enough to recover, and honest enough to
return, receiving an ample reward for his pains.

My first impression of the school was not such as to cure me of the
slight feeling of homesickness which I had now begun to experience. My
arrival did not coincide with any meal-time--it was about 11 a.m.; and,
as they have no idea of providing a decent repast at any unscheduled
hour, I was shown into a workhouse-looking apartment with white bare
walls and regaled with shocking bad coffee and a hunk of dry bread.

There was no lack of warmth, however, in Madame ----’s reception of me.
She embraced me most effusively, and kissed me on both cheeks. Indeed,
I may say at once that no matter what causes for complaint I may later
on have found at this school, I always met with great kindness from
the principal. This, however, was only in accordance with all my later
experiences, as she was a native of Roumania.

The school was a large one, of about four hundred pupils, and there was
a large staff of teachers of all nationalities. I refer to some of my
experiences in a later chapter of this book.

Such was the manner of my coming to Bucarest; and how little I imagined
then that I should grow to love the country and its people, and to make
my home amongst them for so many years of my life!




CHAPTER II

 Hazy ideas about Roumania--“Bucarest, Turkey”--A letter for Sinaia
     goes to Simla--The physical features of the country--Its mineral
     wealth--The chief towns--The Cernavoda Bridge--The railways and
     the scenery through which they pass--The mighty Danube--The Iron
     Gates.


In the preceding chapter I have given some indication of how little
was known of Roumania a quarter of a century ago, but it is still more
astonishing to find in these days of enlightenment what hazy ideas
people in this country have about the land and its inhabitants.

I received a letter once addressed to “Bucarest, Turkey.” Staying
for a few weeks one summer at Sinaia, a letter was sent to me from
England addressed simply “Sinaia.” When it reached me some months
later, the envelope was a curiosity. I still keep it as a proof of
the perseverance of post-office officials. It bears the post-marks
of Italy, Switzerland, Turkey--and, all these failing, it had been
despatched to Simla!

I cannot say that when at school I found geography the fascinating
study which it really is; but that was due to the method of teaching.
There was no attempt made by the instructor to capture the youthful
imagination; the teacher had never ventured abroad, and was destitute
of the stimulus which travel gives.

During my long residence I visited most parts of Roumania, some of them
over and over again, and I think I may justly claim to have a very good
knowledge of the country, of its physical features, its resources, and
all the other information which one may find set forth, for the most
part uninterestingly, in the geography books. It is only right that our
ideas of Roumania should now assume more definite and reliable shape,
and I think that interest is at last being awakened regarding our brave
little ally and all concerning her. I sincerely hope to interest my
readers in the Roumanian people, and--though I am aware that I run a
risk of becoming a little tedious--I feel it my duty to supply at the
outset a slight sketch of the country which they inhabit.

The area of Roumania before the war was about equal to that of England,
but its population was less than that of London.

At that time the northern boundaries were Transylvania, Bukovina, and
Bessarabia, whilst it was bounded on the west by Serbia.

Now Transylvania has been absorbed, and the northern boundaries of
Roumania are formed by the Dniester and the frontiers of Galicia and
Czecho-Slovakia. The western boundaries are Hungary and Jugo-Slavia.

Roumania is now, as hitherto, bounded on the east by the Black Sea and
on the south by Bulgaria.

The rivers, of which there are several, take their rise in the
Carpathians, and after traversing the country empty themselves into
the Danube. These rivers are mostly very shallow, and half dry during
the summer. Very few of them are navigable--indeed, only the Pruth,
the Bistritza, and the mighty Danube,--of which more hereafter. The
rivers are well stocked with many varieties of fish, the sturgeon,
carp, salmon, pike, and perch being the most important. I think I
have sampled every kind of fish these waters have to offer, and I may
here mention the Roumanian grey caviar, which is coarse-grained, when
contrasted with Russian caviar, but to my mind, when properly prepared,
is much more delicious. It has a peculiar, soft, pleasant flavour which
is entirely lacking in the Russian.

The scenery in the Carpathians is very beautiful and at many points
even imposing; the principal peaks are the Omul, Verful co Dor, and the
Caraiman.

Rough mountain ponies are used in summer for the ascent of these peaks.
These animals are strong and wiry, but their equipment is anything but
comfortable. The peasants, from whom they are hired, provide nothing
for the tourists but rough wooden saddles, therefore rugs, cushions,
etc., have to be provided if one wishes to ride in comfort.

On the slopes of the Carpathians there are rocks composed of sandstone,
limestone, and even marble of various colours. The white variety is
said to rival the famous Carrara marble.

Roumania, by the way, is rich in minerals, but it is regrettable that
so few are exploited. Copper, lead, salt, coal, petroleum, lignite form
some of the mineral wealth of the country. Even gold has been found so
far back as in the time of Turkish rule.

At present only petroleum, salt, and lignite are worked. Lignite (a
mineral coal retaining the texture of the wood from which it is
formed) is used, together with natural wood, on the railways instead of
coal. It is decidedly advantageous for the traveller, as it burns with
a perfectly white smoke and does away with all the grit and dust so
noticeable in Hungarian trains.

Roumania possesses very few lakes, the most important being Balta
Alba, which is near the town of Ramnic cu Serat. It has great mineral
properties, and numbers of people flock to it every summer, as its
waters are said to cure rheumatism and scrofula as well as other
diseases. Mineral springs are abundant. Besides iodine, sulphur,
and mud baths there are the State-supported Spas of Govora and
Caliman-eshti, situated among some of the finest Carpathian scenery.
Tekir Ghiol, near Constantza, of Turkish origin, as its name implies,
and Neamtz, are favourite resorts of invalids from all parts, attracted
thereto by the far-famed curative properties of their waters. It
is unfortunate that accommodation at these springs is still rather
primitive, although the prices are exorbitant.

It is to be hoped that with time the entire mineral wealth of Roumania
may be exploited, and thus considerably contribute to the prosperity of
the country.

Roumania has not many towns of importance. After the capital (with a
population of 200,000) one need only mention Jassy, Craiova, Slatina,
Galatz, and Braila--the last two named being ports on the Danube,
which do a considerable trade in grain. The ports on the Black Sea are
Sulina, where an English gunboat belonging to the European Commission
was always stationed, and Constantza, which of late years has direct
communication with Constantinople.

Before the building of the bridge over the Danube at Cernavoda--which,
by the way, is eleven miles long, as a great tract of marshy land has
also to be traversed, travellers from Roumania bound for Constantinople
were obliged to cross the river to Rustchuk and then embark from Varna,
a Bulgarian port. Now, fortunately, all that is changed, greatly to
the advantage of travellers, as Roumanian steamers are much more
comfortable than the Bulgarian.

There were formerly only two main lines of railway by which one could
leave Roumania, travelling west. One of these is _via_ Verciorova, and
runs parallel with the Danube for a considerable distance, passing on
its way Pressburg, the old capital of Hungary, where are still to be
seen on an eminence the ruins of the castle once inhabited by Maria
Theresa. The other route, and, by the way, the cheaper, is in my
opinion much more interesting.

Starting from Bucarest, we have a couple of hours’ run, after which
begins the ascent of the valley of the Prahova. Passing Campina,
the region of the oilfields, which is not so very agreeable for the
olfactory nerves, a halt is made for a few minutes at lovely Sinaia, of
which I have much to say hereafter.

The train now toils along more slowly, as the ascent becomes more
difficult. Passing Busteni, overshadowed by the towering peak of
the Caraiman, we reach Poiana Tzapului, at which station we descend
to visit the beautiful cascade in the neighbourhood. Azuga is next
reached, where we have the opportunity of drinking a glass of the
excellent Azuga beer. Finally, a run of another half hour brings us to
the top of the Pass at Predeal. The station is so arranged that half is
in Roumanian territory and half in Hungarian.

At Predeal we are, unhappily, obliged to change trains--unhappily, I
say, as Hungarian trains are so dirty and gritty from coal-dust, and
the guards of the trains are _always_ uncivil. By the way, I wonder why
Hungarian guards as a rule wear black kid gloves. It is strange, but so
it is.

When passports had been examined and stamped with the Imperial
Austro-Hungarian seal, and luggage searched for anything contraband,
passengers were allowed by the sentry to pass on to the Hungarian part
of the platform, but on no pretext whatever might one return to the
Roumanian section. As the sole restaurant in the place is on Roumanian
soil, this arrangement was extremely awkward for unwary passengers
travelling that way for the first time.

Leaving Predeal, the descent of the Tomos Pass is begun, through lovely
scenery which is described further on. The line continues through
Hungary, by way of Transylvania, till it finally arrives at Budapest,
where travellers change again into trains travelling north, west, or
south.

There have been changes since the time of which I write, and now the
Simplon express leaves Bucarest and proceeds through Agram in Croatia
to Trieste, Vienna, Milan, Lausanne, and Paris.


THE DANUBE

The Danube, that mighty river so often spoken of as “The Blue Danube,”
proves disappointing in some parts. First of all, it is never blue,
but of a muddy grey colour, and then at times it flows through such
flat country that the scenery is most depressing. The numerous floating
water-mills that are anchored near the banks do not greatly add to the
picturesqueness of the scene. They are employed to grind maize and
other grain, and the river supplies the motive power.

On the other hand, the scenery of the Danube near the “Iron Gates” and
the Kazan Pass cannot be surpassed. It is among the finest scenery in
Europe. I have travelled on the Danube from Vienna to Giurgiu, and
_vice versa_, several times, therefore am fairly well acquainted with
it.

The “Iron Gates” are simply rocks in the bed of the river, in some
places just appearing above the surface of the water and in others just
visible below. There is a continual swirling and eddying of the water
round these obstructions, and they were formerly very dangerous to
shipping.

The first time I travelled down from Vienna, the passengers were
obliged at Orsova to leave the large steamer and change into quite a
small one, which then carefully threaded its way among the dangerous
rocks of the “Iron Gates.” Everyone was greatly interested in the
wonderful scenery through which we were passing, and the interest was
not unmixed with a thrill of fear as we listened to the uncanny tales
of former accidents that had occurred just at that spot. The raconteur
was a Hungarian, who seemed delighted with the effect he produced. All
breathed more freely on leaving the danger-zone and embarking again in
one of the larger steamers which awaited us.

The terrors of the “Iron Gates” are, happily, no longer existent, as a
great extent of rock was blown up by dynamite some years ago. As the
Danube flows through many countries, the consent or approval of each
to this proceeding had to be obtained. The great engineering feat was
made an occasion of much ceremony, attended by the Emperor of Austria
and the Kings of Roumania and Serbia, as well as by members of the
Danube Commission. A channel has now been made which stretches for a
considerable distance, so that no interruption of the river traffic is
to be feared. One hopes that in time the channel may be extended so as
to stretch from Vienna to the Black Sea.

Before leaving the scene of the “Iron Gates” I may just shortly
describe how they appear under present conditions. As the steamer
approaches the Kazan Pass (where what remains of the “Iron Gates” is
still to be seen) the river gradually contracts, till it is only about
100 yards in width. One gazes with awe at the steep rocks on each
side of the Pass, rocks which rise to the height of 1000 feet or more
and which enclose the river in such a manner that they give one the
impression of being on a lake rather than a river. As we continue our
way through the Pass we notice at some distance the water foaming and
eddying round a mass of submerged rock, and at one particular spot the
shining line of breakers seems to lie so directly in our path that
it appears almost impossible to avoid it. However, the steamer keeps
steadily on its way through the channel cut for it, and although at
times it appears to be heading for the wall of rock, as if there
were really no outlet from the Pass, still, by many devious turns and
twists, we get safely through and out into the wider reaches of the
river.

What a wonderful river the Danube is! Taking its rise, it is said, in
the courtyard of a gentleman’s residence in Germany, it continues its
course through many countries, absorbing by the way their numerous
tributaries, till it finally empties itself into the Black Sea by
three mouths. Not only is it remarkable for its manifold windings, but
also for the contraction and expansion of its waters. It is probably
at its narrowest in the Kazan Pass, where, as I have already said, it
contracts to a width of about 100 yards; whilst in some parts, and
noticeably before reaching Belgrade, it has a width of between two and
three miles. The Rhine is a beautiful river, but its scenery cannot
be compared to that of the Danube; it is by no means so grand or
impressive. As for the Elbe, that river has the appearance of a canal
when one visits it after viewing the Danube.

From Budapest to Giurgiu is the most interesting part of the river. The
scenery is not always grand or even beautiful, but it is interesting,
passing as it does through the countries of Hungary, Servia, and
Bulgaria, till it finally reaches Roumania. The most uninteresting
stretch is that between Budapest and Vienna, where the river flows
between perfectly flat banks, nothing to be seen on either side, no
villages, no people, only masses of willows stretching for miles,
causing a most depressing effect.

The river is ice-bound for nearly three months, but although I have
often wished to skate across to Rustchuk on the Bulgarian side, the
difficulties have always proved insuperable, as the frozen ridges
caused by the wavelets and eddies of the current present anything but a
smooth surface to the skater.




CHAPTER III

 The Government of Roumania--The Parliament--Lively elections--The
     batiusi and their big sticks--Military picnics at
     election times--“General Post” after an election--Party
     handwriting--Natural selection circumscribed for postal
     officials--The army--A soldier’s life not always a happy
     one--Military marketers, nurses, and spring-cleaners--The
     accession celebrations--On parade--The opposition goes into
     mourning and enjoys a happy day--Threatening demonstrations which
     end happily--A gallant army--If stiff on parade, the Roumanian
     soldier is “one of the best.”


The Government of Roumania is a limited monarchy, the present King,
Ferdinand, being the nephew of the late King Carol. The Salic law is
in force, and so no woman may ascend the throne. In default of a male
heir, a king may be chosen amongst the royal families of Western Europe.

The Parliament consists of the Senate and the Chamber of Deputies,
which latter corresponds to our House of Commons. The pay of a cabinet
minister in pre-war times was about 30,000 francs (£1200), and the
Deputies are also remunerated for their services to the extent of 20
francs a day while Parliament is sitting. The constituency is divided
into four groups or “colleges,” as they are called.

The first college consists of citizens having an income of over £150.
The second college is composed of those with an income ranging from £50
to £150. The third includes tradespeople, who pay the State from £4
upwards annually. The fourth college comprises everyone who pays taxes,
however small they may be. The Senate is elected by the first two
colleges for a period of eight years, the Deputies by all four colleges
for a term of four years.

The chief qualification of a Senator is the possession of an income of
£400 to £500 a year. He must also be over forty years of age. Deputies
must be over twenty-five, must be Roumanians either by birth or
naturalisation, and must live in Roumania.

The constitution of Roumania has been compiled with great regard both
to justice and the liberties of the people.

The Greek Church is the State Church, but, although the Jews are under
many disabilities, there is freedom of worship for all sects. Freedom
of speech is permitted, and no restraint is placed on public meetings.

There is also complete liberty of the press (which is, unfortunately,
too often abused). Capital punishment has been abolished except under
martial law. The property of the peasantry is inviolable. Primary
instruction is gratuitous and compulsory. Such are some of the
principal provisions of the constitution.

It is always very amusing when a general election takes place. Both
Conservatives and Liberals are fully occupied in canvassing beforehand,
and meetings are everywhere in full swing. When the election day dawns,
then the fun begins. Polling booths are established in different parts
of the town, and they are open as early as 7 a.m. That elector is wise
who goes early to record his vote. Inside the polling station there is,
besides the recording official, an agent for each side, Conservative
and Liberal, who narrowly scrutinises each voter as he appears, and
sees to it that he records his vote properly. Trickery is very often
practised, so it behoves each one to be on the alert. By some means or
other, names of people long dead are inserted in the register, and, as
a man remarked in my hearing at one election, “In my father’s lifetime
he never had a vote, but now he is dead they are giving him one.”

As has been said, it is well to record one’s vote in good time--that
is, if one wishes to avoid the _batiusi_. Electioneering agents in
Roumania do not always rely upon the _suaviter in modo_, but freely
adopt the _fortiter in re_. They employ gangs of men (known as
_batiusi_) who, armed with big sticks, are posted at the entrances
to the polling booths, frankly for the purpose of intimidating those
who refuse to vote as their party wishes. Under such circumstances
it is not to be wondered at if feeling sometimes runs very high and
the services of the military have to be called upon. In such a case
the troops line up before the polling booths, and every elector who
arrives carrying a stick, no matter how small or innocent-looking,
is gravely relieved of it before entering. If matters assume a very
threatening aspect and it is impossible for the troops to return to
barracks for the mid-day meal, large cauldrons of soup are brought down
to them. This is served out together with large pieces of bread, and
the soldiers seem rather to enjoy the little break in their monotonous
life, if it does not include the breaking of heads.

After the election, when the new Government is duly installed in
office, a clearance of the former officials takes place. One and all
are changed, even to the man who runs to the nearest café for the cup
of afternoon coffee. The incoming ministers and members of Parliament
have all a crowd of protégés, who also want their good time as long as
Parliament lasts. It is curious then on entering the post office, the
custom house, or any other public building, to find there entirely new
faces. It reminds one of the game of “General Post.”

Every change of Government is a signal for reform. Sometimes it is
merely reform in the literal sense of the word, as, for example, when
an incoming Government makes an attack upon the caligraphy taught
and practised in the schools. If the Liberals have adopted a sloping
style of writing, Conservatives upon assuming power are sure to insist
upon the re-formation of the characters and the setting of them up
in a perpendicular position. It is the party idea _in excelsis_, and
irresistibly recalls the difference of opinion of the Big-Endians and
the Little-Endians in _Gulliver’s Travels_ as to which end of the egg
should be broken.

Mentioning the post office just now reminds me of one strange rule in
force in that department. Post-office employees must only marry members
of the opposite sex who are also engaged in the post office. I could
scarcely credit this when I heard it, but a prominent official of the
post office assured me that it was the case.


THE ARMY

At the time of the accession of Prince Carol the army consisted of raw
levies unprovided with uniforms and in many cases armed only with pikes
and sabres. Indeed, so unsoldierlike was their appearance that they
were referred to as a “ragged band of gipsies.” Prince Carol (he was
not crowned king until after the battle of Plevna) found not only that
the army was wholly untrained, but that in numbers also it was totally
inadequate.

The sovereign immediately set to work to bring his forces up to date.
Universal compulsory service was at once introduced. German instructors
were brought into the country, and it is from this time that the story
of the organisation of the Roumanian army begins. The result has shown
what can be done, if only the right material is to hand.

The Roumanian soldier is a splendid fighting unit, his superb daring
and dash carry him through the most difficult places. In the numerous
campaigns of later years in which the Roumanian army has been engaged,
the courage and admirable soldierly qualities of the men have been
amply shown.

That King Carol was proud of his army, no one could doubt who watched
his face during the march past of the troops every 10th of May. He
rejoiced in the fact that it was owing to his own exertions that the
army was maintained in such a high state of efficiency. The standing
army when Roumania entered the Great War had a strength of 600,000 to
700,000 men, but with the reserves included a million trained men could
be counted upon.

The infantry were armed with German rifles--Mannlicher, I believe; and
the heavy guns used were from Krupp’s. Those presented to the army some
years ago by King Carol, to which I have elsewhere made reference,
were from the same source. However, after the beginning of the war
heavy orders for munitions were placed with Japan. An excellent medical
service was organised, composed of skilled surgeons and a highly
efficient staff.

General Averescu, who was first in command, is a fine strategist and
a born leader of men. It is to be regretted that party politics had
kept him absent for a time from a sphere of activity just when he
should have been well to the front. As a follower of Take Jonescu he
was looked on by the Liberals with disfavour, and not given any high
command; but immediately war broke out they were constrained to place
him in the post for which he was so well fitted. The position of
Commander-in-Chief of the army is, as everyone is aware, filled by King
Ferdinand.

As in all Continental countries, there is universal military service
in Roumania. All males are required to present themselves for military
service at any period they may choose between the ages of eighteen and
twenty-one. Formerly the duration of service was one year. It was later
reduced to six months. Young fellows of the better class are required
to supply their own uniforms, and if they elect to enter a cavalry
regiment they must provide their own horses.

Exemptions are only granted in cases of physical disablement, and it
has sometimes occurred that a peasant has cut off a couple of fingers
so that he may be disqualified. It is no wonder that such things will
happen, as the lot of the young peasants in garrison is not always
enviable. They are often badly clothed and badly fed, and their duties
are manifold. Of course they are liable to be called upon to act as
officers’ servants, a lieutenant having the right to one soldier’s
services, and a captain two. But such service is not by any means
understood in Roumania as it is in England. In the former country the
soldier servant has not only to look after his master, but also to do
all the household work. He goes to market and buys the provisions for
the day, takes the children to school, and performs the duties of a
maid-of-all-work. It is even a common occurrence for a lady living next
door to an officer’s family (when she is overwhelmed with work, such as
spring cleaning) to borrow the soldier for the day!

The Roumanian soldier on parade does not cut a good figure. He has not
the free, swinging step of our own soldiers. Both officers and men
march very stiffly, and have a somewhat wooden appearance.

During the lifetime of the late King Carol there was always a parade on
the 10th May (old style), the date of his accession to the throne. As
the troops marched past the royal box, one received an impression that
if a soldier in any one of the ranks should make a false step it would
cause a catastrophe--the whole row would fall one after another, just
like wooden soldiers.

Bucarest, by the way, is very gay on the 10th May, the Roumanian
colours--red, blue, and yellow--are to be seen everywhere. Triumphal
arches span the principal street, and pavilions are erected for the
royal family, the members of the diplomatic corps, and the principal
officials of state.

In King Carol’s time a Te Deum was always sung in the Metropole
(cathedral) at the beginning of the day. King Carol and Prince
Ferdinand then used to ride with their respective suites from the
church to the boulevard where the march past took place. One day the
Prince’s horse behaved very badly, and threw its rider as he was
leading his regiment past the royal box. The accident caused a great
sensation, but fortunately the Prince was not much injured.

After the parade the day was given up to amusements, and in the evening
the town was brilliantly illuminated. The illuminations were really
very fine, and did credit to the people who carried them out. It did
not always happen that everyone was contented and amiable on these
occasions, as very often that day was chosen by the opposition to make
demonstrations. Newspapers with a deep black border round them were
sold openly in the streets. This was meant as an indication of sorrow
at having a German king to rule over Roumania. If the opposition could
succeed in exciting the populace to carry out a demonstration against
the King and the Government of the day they were happy, and could
retire to bed in a much pleasanter frame of mind.

The operations of the opposition are generally a source of amusement.
If anything happens in Parliament to raise their ire, they immediately
hold meetings to protest. After the meetings a procession is formed,
the object being to proceed to the palace and lay their grievances
before the King. As, however, Roumanians never can keep silent, their
plans are always known beforehand, so when they arrive within a
certain distance of the palace they find all the approaches barred by
the police. A parley takes place, great excitement prevails for five
minutes, and then all quietly disperse.

If it is thought that the police will not be able to cope with the
disturbance, the soldiers are called out. They line up along the
principal streets with guns ready (one wonders if they are loaded).
Officers on horseback dash up and down giving orders, and there is
great excitement. Vague rumours are afloat, and one wonders what is
going to happen. It all looks very serious, but as time goes on it
becomes known that the demonstrators have gone another way, and somehow
one feels that the soldiers have been badly treated. After standing on
guard in the street for hours it must be disappointing that nothing
happens and they must quietly return to barracks.

Notwithstanding his stiffness the Roumanian soldier is a gallant
fighter--one of the best, and indeed the army was brought to a state of
great proficiency by the late King. He himself was a born soldier, and
led his men gallantly against their old oppressors the Turks when the
battle of Plevna was won.

The Roumanian national anthem is a fine martial air and was composed
by Eduard Hübsch. He, although of German birth, was a naturalised
Roumanian long resident in the country, and died some years ago at
Sinaia.




CHAPTER IV

 The religion of Roumania--The head of the Church must be a monk,
     and therefore a celibate--The priests are of the peasant
     class, unlearned and little respected--A priest’s monthly
     rounds--Prayers for a girl’s marriage--St Demetre the patron saint
     of Bucarest--His vocation as a rain-maker--He is brought out when
     the priests see the rain coming--Roumanian churches--The legend
     of Curtea d’Argesh--The well of Manole’s wife’s tears--Easter
     customs--The Roumanian monasteries: dens for lazy people--A
     wonderful grotto--The convents--Princess Marie as a nun.


Roumanians, as everybody knows, belong to the Greek Church. There are
no divisions in the orthodox religion as there are, unhappily, in our
own, and complete freedom of worship is allowed to all foreigners in
the country. The forms and ceremonies of the Greek Church resemble very
closely those of the Roman Catholic. Ikons (or holy pictures) hang
in all the churches as well as in private houses, and are kissed by
the faithful whenever a prayer is said. The sign of the cross is also
universal; it is always made when one passes a church.

It is rather amusing to watch the Olteni (the equivalent of the London
coster) with the vegetables crossing himself most devoutly in passing
a church, well knowing that he will cheat you immediately afterwards
if you give him the chance. However, he does not look upon his little
dodges as sins, he simply prides himself upon his cleverness in getting
the better of you.

The head of the Greek Church is always chosen from amongst the monks.
The monks are vowed to a life of celibacy, and live enclosed in the
numerous monasteries scattered throughout the country. The priests, on
the contrary, are allowed to marry; that is, they may have one wife,
but if she dies they are not allowed to re-marry. The priests are
usually of the peasant class; no member of even a middle-class family
would dream of entering the Church. They have little education, and are
not looked on with any respect. The garb is rather peculiar. Over his
ordinary clothes a priest wears a long coat, with wide hanging sleeves,
reaching almost to his feet, and on his head a sort of brimless hat
made of red, purple or black velvet, according to the wearer’s status
in the Church.

As a priest is not allowed to cut his hair after taking orders, he is
obliged to wear it plaited like a Chinaman’s pigtail. He seems to be
rather ashamed of this distinction, however, as the queue is always
stuffed under the collar of the coat.

On the first day of the month every priest goes round his own parish
with an acolyte carrying incense. Every house is entered in order to
bless it for the coming month, prayers are said and incense waved in
every room. Only the room of the English or French governess is left
out, as she is a heretic.

Should a young girl find it difficult to meet with a suitable husband,
the priest, at the special request of her parents, proceeds to her room
and remains there for some time reciting prayers specially arranged for
such an occasion, the end in view being marriage for the girl.

The patron saint of Bucarest is St Demetre--his mummy, enclosed in a
silver casket, lies in the church named after him. On his “name-day”
special services are held. The silver casket containing the holy
remains is placed outside the church, and as all Bucarest is present
on that day, everyone who passes by, and feels so disposed, may kiss
the hand of what was once St Demetre. The saint is supposed to have
great influence over the weather. If a drought continues too long, then
Demetre is appealed to. He is carried round the town in great state,
surrounded by numbers of attendant priests, banners flying and music
playing.

It has sometimes happened that the rain has come down like a deluge
before St Demetre could be brought under shelter again. Then great
is the jubilation, and the gratitude to him for what he has done is
unbounded. But from private observations that I have made, my opinion
is that the wary priests wait till they see a little cloud like a man’s
hand in the sky before they risk disturbing St Demetre.

The Roumanian churches are circular in form, with no seats for
the worshippers, save a very few near the altar for some favoured
individuals, or for royalty should they favour the church with a
visit. Behind the reredos is a room for the priests, from which they
sally forth at stated intervals to take their part in the service. No
instrumental music is allowed in the church, the vocal music being
provided by men and young boys; and very fine it is, as Roumanians are
a musical race with a well-developed taste for what is best.

The beautiful church of Curtea d’Argesh, a couple of hours’ journey
from Bucarest, is built in the Byzantine style. The exterior appears
to be of marble, but in reality it is a kind of limestone, easy to
work, which becomes quite hard on exposure to the air. The church is
square in shape, and a dome rises from the centre. At each corner of
the building is a little tower, and the most curious feature of the
structure is that these four towers have such a twisted appearance that
they seem about to fall on one another. The truth is that each tower is
encircled by spiral bands from top to bottom in such a fashion as to
make them appear to be out of the perpendicular, although in reality it
is not so.

In the interior of the church the walls are adorned with fresco
paintings and carvings. Here is also to be seen a copy of the Gospels
done in the style of the illuminated missals of olden times, the work
of the late Queen of Roumania. Here and there in this interesting work
small sketches have been introduced by way of illustration. Princess
Marie, the little daughter of the late Queen, figures there as an
angel. This is entirely in consonance with one’s sense of the fitness
of things, but when St John is seen represented by the face of Monsieur
J. K., it does give one rather a shock.

The windows in the body of the church are very narrow, but are arranged
in such a fashion that every corner of the building is well lighted.
The ornamentation on the outside is both interesting and beautiful. A
large moulding encircles the church, and above this are round shields
beautifully decorated with flowers and leaves. Little gilt birds are
suspended at intervals, from whose beaks hang tiny bells. When the wind
blows from a certain quarter, agitating these little bells, the effect
is very pretty.

Just opposite the door of the church there is a most beautiful little
building resembling a shrine. It is composed of four pillars which
support a series of mouldings, and is crowned with a dome just like the
church itself. The _tout ensemble_ is so beautiful that it impresses
the visitor with the idea of its being a fairy structure.

At a short distance from the church is a monastery at which Carmen
Sylva used to stay for weeks at a time. She was very fond of the old
legends of Roumania, and especially of that connected with Curtea
d’Argesh.

The architect and builder of the church was one Manole, and according
to the legend he was extremely anxious to get the building completed
by a certain date. He spurred on his men to their utmost endeavours;
but alas! no matter what progress they made during the day, the work
which they accomplished was always destroyed in the night following.
This continued to happen, and the only conclusion to be arrived at was
that evil spirits were at work who were opposed to the building of
churches. Manole tried all sorts of plans to circumvent them, but in
vain. Finally he made a vow that, in order to appease their wrath, he
would build into the church wall the first person to come this way on
a certain day, if the evil spirits would, on their part, refrain from
interfering with his work. The day arrived, and Manole eagerly looked
for a victim. For hours no one passed that way, and the day dragged
slowly along. At length a figure appeared in the distance, and Manole
eagerly awaited its approach. What was his horror, when the figure drew
nearer, to discover that it was his young wife coming to see how the
work was progressing. She was the idol of his life, but the vow must be
kept. There was no alternative. With a heavy heart he asked his wife
to stand in a niche in the wall. She, poor thing, taking it as a joke,
willingly consented. The workmen began to build her in, she talking and
laughing meanwhile with her husband. However, as the bricks and mortar
slowly but surely began to enclose her she became frightened. She
begged Manole to stop jesting and take her out. Despairingly he turned
his eyes away and spurred the men on to fresh endeavours.

Now the wall reaches her knees, her chest, her eyes. She becomes
desperate, and screams and implores her husband to free her. His only
answer is to urge the men to greater haste. Her cries become fainter
and fainter, till, some minutes after the completion of the wall, her
voice ceases for ever.

From this day forward the work on the church went on splendidly, no
interference whatever taking place during the night. Evidently the evil
spirits were propitiated. The legend continues that Manole kept up till
the church was quite finished, then threw himself from the roof and was
killed.

Three minutes’ walk from the church there is a well of beautifully cold
clear water of which every visitor must have a draught. This well is
supposed to have originated from the tears of Manole’s wife as she was
being built into the wall of the church.

Roumanians are not very diligent churchgoers, but twice a year at least
they do turn out--that is at Easter and at Christmas. In the Greek
Church Easter is _the_ great festival. The churches are crowded, people
kneeling on the steps and along the pavement when it is impossible to
get standing room inside. Service begins at 10.30 on Easter Eve, and
on the stroke of midnight all the gaily decorated candles with which
the people have provided themselves are lighted, and a procession
is formed, headed by the priests, the chief priest walking under a
canopy borne by four others. The procession wends its way three times
round the church, then the blessing is pronounced and the congregation
disperses. Whoever succeeds in reaching home with his or her candle
still alight will be happy through the coming year, but woe to the
unhappy one if an unlucky blast should extinguish it. All sorts of
misfortunes may then be looked for.

It is a very pretty sight, as the different groups are seen returning
home, carefully shading the twinkling little lights, which appear to
dance hither and thither. The churches are profusely decorated with
flowers at such times.

There are many curious ceremonies performed at Easter, of which the
following is an example. A table is placed at the upper end of the
nave and upon it an image or picture of our Saviour. As each person
reaches the table he drops down and proceeds on hands and knees under
it. This is done three times, and is supposed to be typical of the
great humility of the worshipper. This part of the service delights
the children, who sprawl under the table with great goodwill but not
apparently with any appreciation of the significance of the ceremony.
Reverence on the part of the congregation is not one of the features
of the Greek Church services. A good deal of talking and laughing goes
on, so much so that it is no unusual thing for a priest to stop in the
middle of the service and request the people to be silent. Even at
weddings the same thing may be seen. The bride and groom appear to be
holding a reception rather than having a service celebrated which is
to unite them for life--or rather till such time as they think fit to
dissolve the union.

The monasteries are a great feature of social life in Roumania. At
a time when there were no hotels, hospitality was always shown to
travellers by the monks. One could remain there for a week or two
without being under an obligation to pay anything. At each monastery
there are from twenty to thirty monks. Each one has a tiny apartment
that he can call his own, to which is attached a small plot of ground.
In this plot the monk grows his vegetables, or keeps a couple of fowls.
He is allowed about forty bani a day (4d.) from Government, and to eke
out his living he has recourse to all sorts of devices. The favourite
one is the making of certain liqueurs which are offered for sale to
any traveller who may happen to pass. It is a great pity that these
monasteries should be allowed by Government, as they are simply dens
for lazy people. One may imagine that with twenty monks attached to one
church the services required from each are not very arduous, especially
when the church is in a remote district. They are expected to officiate
at stated intervals day and night, and recite prayers. That done, the
time is their own to use as they think fit.

In olden times, and more especially during the rule of the Turk, the
monasteries were often used as places of refuge by the oppressed, or
as storehouses for their valuables. They are generally built on very
high eminences, and command a good view of the surrounding country.
One monastery in particular which I have visited is situated at such a
height in the Carpathians that in winter communication with the outside
world is absolutely impossible; the monks are completely snowed up.

But in summer what a difference! The monastery is surrounded by lovely
meadows, where one walks knee-deep in grasses and most beautiful
wildflowers. Through these meadows a babbling brook winds its way under
overhanging willow branches to the river further down.

Close to the chapel of the monastery there is a natural grotto which is
always shown to visitors.

I remember exploring it once with a party of friends, and the uncanny
sensation it gave me. Each member of the party was provided with a
candle, and a monk acted as guide. As we passed further and further
into the grotto, we appeared to be accompanied by a rushing river, but
no river was to be seen. The effect was weird. The thick darkness,
seeming to be rendered only more opaque by the feeble light of the
candles, surrounded us like a pall, and we scarcely ventured to speak
above a whisper. The monks assert that there is an underground river,
but whence it starts and whither it goes no one seems to know. The
cave itself is vast, and extends for miles under the mountains. It is
thought that it communicates with the natural grotto at Campulung,
which is very similar, and may really be a part of it; but this has
never been proved. No one seems to have had either the time or the
inclination to undertake such an expedition. A Royal Geographical
Society for research has not yet been formed in Roumania.

There are numerous convents for women scattered all over the country.
The costume of the nuns is not at all pretty. Over the dress, which
is of ordinary stuff, a long cloak is worn, and a band of black cloth
is bound round the forehead, the ends falling in pleats at the back,
completely covering the hair. To crown all and complete the picture, a
round flat cap or hat, also black, is perched on the top of the head.

The system of Roumanian convents differs somewhat from that of the
Roman Catholic convents. Roumanian nuns are quite free to go about and
visit friends and relatives. They are only vowed to celibacy, and they
live together in communities, working for the poor and visiting the
sick. No branch of education is, however, undertaken by them, as they
themselves are not sufficiently instructed for that. Before the present
Queen of Roumania ascended the throne one of her greatest pleasures
was to stay for a few weeks at the convent near Campulung. There she
donned the garb of a nun--such a pretty nun had never been seen before
in Roumania,--occupied herself with embroidery or painting, and ate
the ordinary fare of the inmates. I believe a favourite sweet of hers
on these occasions was musca, made of flour, butter, and sugar, which
when cooked is completely covered with burnt sugar. It tastes very
good indeed. This convent is situated in a very beautiful part of the
country, and the chapel belonging to it is a curiosity in its way,
having been excavated out of the solid rock.




CHAPTER V

 Roumania’s capital--A garden city--Modesty on the trams--“A town of
     one street, one church, and one idea”--The Calea Victorie--Two
     hundred churches--The church of Doamna Balash--English customs
     gaining headway--The houses of Bucarest--Afternoon calls and
     refreshments--The fortifications.


Bucarest is situated on a marshy plain, a fact accounting for the
malaria which so often attacks foreigners, as well as the inhabitants.
It is an irregularly built town on the river Dimbovitza. When I first
went there the town was very badly paved with rough cobble-stones,
and it was highly disagreeable to go through the Calea Victorie, as
the constant rumbling of the traffic over these stones effectually
prevented any attempt at conversation. That is all changed now since
wood-paving has been introduced.

The town is well lighted, in some streets incandescent lamps being
used, whilst electricity is employed on the Boulevard and the Chaussée.

The Boulevard, planted on both sides with trees, divides the town
into two parts. It is a fine wide thoroughfare, and runs from the
neighbourhood of the Palace at Cotroceni, right up to the Calea
Moșilor, which it meets at right angles.

The best view of the town is from the hill on which the Metropolitan
Church stands. Seen from there it is very picturesque--the houses of
the better class standing in gardens, in some cases of a fairly good
size.

Numerous small public gardens, the largest called Cismegiu, and the
drive known as the Chaussée, greatly contribute to the garden-like
appearance of the town.

There is a very effective tram service in Bucarest, which was started
some years ago by an English company. At first two-deckers were used,
somewhat after the fashion of our own English trams; but that did
not suit the authorities of the town. The idea of women climbing up
to such elevated seats shocked them to such an extent that an order
was issued forbidding the feminine use of the overhead seats. These
trams were then withdrawn, and others of a more modest appearance
and characteristics substituted. An electric tram now runs on the
Boulevard. What a commotion there was when it was first instituted!
People were afraid to trust themselves on it--they feared electrocution
most probably; but by degrees that feeling of fear was dissipated, and
now the electric tram is as much used as the other. And now, I have
just learnt, motor omnibuses have been adopted. I am glad to have been
spared that innovation.

Bucarest has been described as a town of one street, one church, and
one idea. The aphorism is to some extent justified, for the Calea
Victorie is practically Bucarest, the Greek Church knows no dissenters,
and the prevailing idea is the spending of money.

Calea Victorie is a very long street. It leads from the Dimbovitza to
the Chaussée (the fashionable afternoon resort of the Bucarestois),
and it is essentially _the_ street. All the principal buildings, as
well as the Royal Palace, are situated in the Calea Victorie, and it is
the daily lounge of the _élite_ of the town.

It is a cosmopolitan crowd that one encounters on the Calea Victorie:
society ladies in elegant costumes, dapper little Frenchmen belonging
to the Embassy, Roumanian officers in varied uniforms, handsome Turks
with the fez set jauntily on their heads, Armenians with full short
skirts and very curious headgear, and many others.

Churches are a great feature of the town--there are, I should think,
over two hundred in Bucarest. The Metropole is, of course, the
Cathedral, where all ceremonial services are held. St Spiridon is a
fine large building, but its beauty has been diminished of late years
owing to the fact that the beautiful crosses and chains with which it
was formerly ornamented were found too heavy for the roof and had to be
removed. In this church many of the fashionable weddings take place.

Of the more modern churches Doamna Balash, founded by the Brancovan
family, is decidedly the most beautiful. It stands in a well-laid-out
garden, in which are beds of most lovely flowers that form at the same
time a fitting setting for the statue of the foundress, Doamna Balash.
The statue is very fine, the pose of the figure extremely graceful,
whilst the drapery is also a work of art.

The interior of the church is gorgeous indeed, quite Eastern in its
rich ornamentation. The exquisite reredos, the beautiful stained-glass
windows, the ornamented candelabrum that hangs in the centre, the rich
colours of the carpets that cover the floor, combine to make a picture
that cannot be surpassed. During a service the effect is enhanced by
the splendid robes and head-dresses of the officiating priests.

Attached to the church is a school, and also almshouses for the aged.

The Brancovan Hospital, which is at the back of the church and is
considered amongst the best in the town, is one of a group of four
buildings which were erected by the family Brancovan, descendants of a
reigning prince of former times.

Life in Bucarest is very agreeable, especially for foreigners, and
more particularly for the English, who are looked up to and admired
by the Roumanians. Many of our customs have been adopted in recent
years, and English, which had long been making headway, has gained so
enormously since the war that it will probably soon take the place of
French as the polite language of the country. It is curious that with
the better-class Roumanians it has become more fashionable than their
own language. If one enters a drawing-room, a shop, or even a very
intimate family circle, English or French will be heard, very seldom
Roumanian--which language is usually left to the servants.

Roumanian houses are generally built with the side to the street, and
consist of only one story, on account of the frequent earthquakes.

On entering the house, one finds oneself in a large vestibule sometimes
lighted from above by artificial means. This is _really_ a vestibule,
but is very often used as a sitting-room by the family. All the
other rooms open out of this circular chamber. This is a convenient
arrangement for heating purposes, as there is always a large stove in
the vestibule, and when the doors of the adjacent rooms are left open
an agreeable warmth pervades the house.

There is, besides, a porcelain stove in each room for use in severe
weather, as Roumanians are very fond of well-warmed rooms. In the
vestibule coal or coke is used, but wood in all the other rooms.

Double windows are always used in winter; but as spring comes on the
outer one is exchanged for one of wire-netting, which allows the
free passage of air, but keeps out the flies, which are generally
troublesome.

Roumania is a breakfastless country. Some people drink a cup of
black coffee or take a “dulceata,” others have nothing at all till
lunch-time. Lunch and dinner are very substantial meals consisting
of several courses--the French cuisine being adopted in all the
better-class families.

When one pays an afternoon visit for the first time, one is rather
astonished at the form the refreshment takes. When salutations have
been exchanged and conversation is in full swing, or otherwise, the
door opens and a maid appears with a large tray. On it are arranged
small glass plates with a spoonful of jam on each, and a glass of water
for each person. The visitor, if a foreigner, is generally puzzled
as to what is expected of her, but upon observing her neighbours she
sees that the spoonful of jam, “dulceata” (pronounced dulchatza) as
it is called, is solemnly swallowed, then washed down by a draught of
cold water. One must be careful not to do as a friend of mine did on a
first visit. Never having seen such refreshment, she calmly mixed the
spoonful of jam in the water and valiantly swallowed the dose, to the
consternation of the Roumanians present.

Most people have heard in recent sad days of the wonderful
fortifications of Bucarest, which were designed by a Belgian and
constructed at a cost of £4,000,000. The city was thus well protected
by outworks, which made it the largest fortified camp in the world,
with the exception of Paris.




CHAPTER VI

 The land system--The Dominele or squirearchy--The simple life of the
     peasants--The beginning of a revolt--A premature outbreak--The
     countryside in flames--King Carol’s new guns first used on his
     subjects--A village population exterminated--Terror in the town--I
     go to church and am relieved to see Princess Marie there--The tale
     of a sufferer--The priests and schoolmasters the instigators--The
     peasants’ subterranean dwellings.


In former times the peasants received a plot of ground proportionate
to the number of cattle they owned, and also rights of grazing and
collecting fuel in the forests.

In 1864 a law was passed conferring on each peasant freehold property
according to the number of oxen he possessed, the man with no cattle
receiving the minimum number of acres.

The price of the land was paid to the landlord by the State and
recovered from the peasant in a certain number of instalments. On the
whole it was not a great boon, as the limited size of the farms, the
necessity for buying wood and paying for pasturage, prevented the
peasants from obtaining complete independence of the large proprietors
on whose estates they still had to work for payment in money or in kind.

Of course a good deal of grumbling went on. The peasant accused his
Dominele of allotting to him the worst pasture and other land on the
estate. He complained bitterly when, in the height of harvest, he was
obliged to leave his own crops in order to get in those of the squire.

The peasant paid no taxes, but instead he gave his services to the
State in road-making, drainage, etc., whenever he was called upon. The
improvidence of the peasants very often got them into the hands of the
Jews, who fortunately are by law unable to become proprietors of the
land.

In later years laws have been passed to improve the position of the
peasants, and the Agrarian Reform Law has this year been considered by
a Committee of the Chamber.

Under the Expropriation Law a large area had already been designated
for distribution to the peasants, whose ultimate well-being one may
confidently hope is now assured. There is still a pressing need for
good schools in the villages.

The usual wages of a peasant was in pre-war days one franc daily, out
of which he had to provide his food.

“Mamaliga,” a kind of bread made of maize, with a few fresh onions, or
a melon, constitutes the peasant’s frugal repast. Meat he rarely sees,
and as for drink, not only the peasantry, but indeed all classes of
Roumanians are remarkably abstemious. The only drink that the peasant
allows himself is a glass of _tzuica_ (a spirit distilled from plums)
after church on Sundays. In this mild dissipation the village priest
generally takes part, and he also acts as mediator should a slight
difference of opinion arise, which, it must be said, very seldom occurs.

Although the peasant is by nature of an amiable, indolent character,
still on occasion he may be aroused to a state of fury, either by
brooding over his real or fancied wrongs, or through the influence of
agitators. In such a state nothing is sacred to him, and a revolt of
the peasants once experienced is not easily forgotten.

Such a revolt occurred in 1907, when even we in Bucarest experienced
a very uneasy time. The peasants on a certain estate were in a very
restless, discontented state of mind, and this disaffection rapidly
spreading to neighbouring estates, almost the whole of the rural
population became involved in a very serious rising. A plot was
arranged to attack the estates of the landed proprietors during the
month of July, when, as is usually the case, they would be installed
with their families in their country residences for the summer months.
Luckily for them some premature development occurred and the trouble
began in May, so that only their property suffered, their families
being safe in Bucarest.

Every day dreadful stories were in circulation as to the doings of
the peasantry. We were told the most harrowing tales of how houses
were being wrecked, costly furniture burned, and even stock destroyed.
Travellers from the interior of the country related how they saw
flames rising to a great height in all directions, as one splendid
country-house after another was burnt to the ground. Woe betide any
unpopular land agent who was found near the scene! In very many cases
he was thrown into the flames. Troops were despatched into the interior
to restore order; but as most of the soldiers are themselves of the
peasant class, the authorities had to be very careful as to where
they sent them, as in the event of finding themselves among friends
or neighbours, the probability was that they would take sides with
the insurgents. This actually did happen in one district, where the
soldiers deserted their officer, leaving him to be shot down.

A strange example of the irony of fate was shown in the fact that some
guns of a new type which King Carol had shortly before presented to the
army were now used for the first time in shooting down his subjects.

The most terrible incident of the revolt was described to me by an
officer who was present. A certain village had long been known as a
hotbed of disaffection, and it was decided that an example should be
made of it. Roumanian villages consist as a rule of one long street
of simple little whitewashed cottages with outhouses in the rear, and
this particular village was of the usual character. The artillery
approached the village from opposite quarters, and with the new guns
raked the street from end to end, practically annihilating the whole
population--men, women, and children.

The constant fear of the authorities was that the mob in the capital
might join with the peasants. A regiment of infantry, fully equipped
with all the impedimenta of war, including some cannon and a few
ambulance wagons, was therefore paraded through the streets at regular
intervals in order to strike awe into the hearts of the people.
The cabarets were closed at an early hour, and suspected quarters
were patrolled all night. These measures proved effectual, and no
disturbances whatever took place in Bucarest.

The townspeople, however, were very nervous, and always ready to
believe the countless reports that were to be heard on every hand. I
was staying with some friends at the time, and my host returned home
late one evening, having made a round of most of the shops in search
of ammunition. His quest, he told us, was fruitless; not a single
cartridge was to be had; everything was sold out. Of course this
increased the anxiety that we already felt. How often during that
troubled time did I stand at the window before retiring for the night,
straining my ears to catch any unaccustomed sound, and fancying that I
heard the noise of cannon from the direction of the barriers!

One Sunday morning, as I was preparing for church, my hostess entered
my room with a very grave face. She had received information from a
very reliable source that a determined attack was to be made that
day on the town. The churches were to be attacked first, she said,
therefore she strongly advised me to stay away. The lady herself had
decided to go, with her family, to a relative who lived in what she
thought was a safer quarter of the town, and would there remain to
watch the course of events.

I decided that if any disturbance was really going to take place it
would be preferable for me to be in the midst of my own countrymen, and
therefore putting the few valuables I possessed into a small bag, I
set out for church. Nothing unusual in the demeanour of the passers-by
struck me; no air of repressed excitement was to be remarked, and as I
approached the building where the English service was held, any latent
feeling of anxiety was completely dispelled by the sight of Princess
Marie, fresh and charming as usual, being swiftly driven to church. I
was completely convinced that nothing was to be feared, otherwise the
Princess would not have been allowed to appear in the streets.

Once in church all fears were at an end, till aroused again by the
entrance of two shady-looking persons of quite forbidding appearance.
I then for the first time became really frightened. Who were they?
What could they want? Would they throw bombs? As a matter of fact they
did nothing; but it was not until the conclusion of the service that I
learnt they were detectives, and their business was to watch over the
safety of Princess Marie.

The day passed very quietly, and I must say that I felt quite superior
and remarkably brave when in the course of the evening I was rung up by
my hostess, who wished to know if all was quiet and if she could return
in safety with her family. I telephoned at once that all was quiet,
not even a dog or cat to be seen in the street, much less any trace of
rioters.

Although we in town were spared any terrible sights, we heard dreadful
stories from those who had suffered. A lady whom I knew happened to be
in the country with her family when the revolt broke out. They managed
to escape from their beautiful home, and for three days and nights were
hidden by a friendly peasant in an outhouse. Here they were obliged
to subsist on the simplest fare, fearing to show themselves; dreading
every moment to be discovered. All around could be heard the hoarse
cries of the peasants, rising to frenzy as their excitement grew. The
glare of their own burning home penetrated into their hiding-place,
and they could picture to themselves the maddened peasants dancing like
so many demons round the fire. At last, as the rioters drew off to
scenes further afield, it was considered safe to attempt the journey to
the station. What a walk that must have been, and what a relief when
finally their goal was reached, and a train was found on the point of
starting for Bucarest! It is true that the journey was made with a man
standing with a loaded revolver at each carriage door, but all fear was
dismissed from their minds when they found themselves safe and sound in
the capital.

The instigators of the revolt, as was eventually proved, were the
schoolmasters and the priests. The proofs of this were overwhelming. No
one knows, and probably no one will ever know, the number of peasants
who lost their lives during the disturbances, but that it was very
large there is no doubt whatever.

Several timid folk left the country with their children and went to
Kronstadt, just a few miles over the border in Hungarian territory, and
there they remained till all was quiet once more.

It was rather amusing for the Roumanian families who later on ventured
to return to their estates, to see some of the peasants parading about
in garments that had formerly belonged to them.

A remarkable feature of country life in Roumania, which reminds us
sharply that serfdom has not long been extinct, is the curious kind of
subterranean housing provided for the labourers on many estates. In
the neighbourhood of the farm you will notice a long ridge or mound of
earth some three feet in height, at one end of which is an inverted
V-shaped opening like a ship’s scuttle. If you enter this “scuttle”
and descend a few steps you will find yourself in a large underground
apartment furnished with a stove, a small table in the centre, a number
of beds--of a sort--placed round the walls, and nothing else. My host,
on the occasion of my visiting one of these quaint dwellings on his
estate, assured me that his people preferred these “dugouts” to any
other form of dwelling, as they were cool in summer and warm in winter.
My visit was paid in the summer, but I imagine that when the stove is
alight the place must be a bit stuffy, to say the least of it.




CHAPTER VII

 Village scenes--National dances--The picturesque peasant
     costumes--Peasant girls who powder and paint--An idyllic scene--A
     country wedding--Peasant simplicity.


When staying in the country, I always took great delight in witnessing
the village scenes. Roumanians, as I have already mentioned, are a
musical race. They also love dancing. Some of their country-dances
are very pretty. The principal one is the “Hora,” and it is danced by
any number of people to the music of a violin. A number of young men
and girls take hands and form a large ring. They then begin a slow
and stately step, the music gradually increasing in speed, and their
movements also, till they become fast and furious. Music and dance then
suddenly stop. Another dance is the “Sârba,” which is danced by two
people, either men or women. They stand side by side, each with one
hand resting lightly on the other’s shoulder. Then the dance begins,
and when well done it really affords a most interesting spectacle,
so varied and intricate are the steps employed. There is far more
individual dancing in these national dances than in ours.

On Sunday afternoons dancing on the village green is the great
amusement, and when one comes on the company unexpectedly, and they
are not too shy to continue, it is an interesting sight. The girls,
dressed in their varied and picturesque costumes, the crimson, blue,
and gold of which flash here and there with the movements of the
wearers, the young men clad in snowy-white garments, make a pretty
picture, backed as it is by the surrounding foliage, and bathed in
brilliant sunshine.

I must describe the dress of the young peasant, as it is rather
curious. A very tight pair of breeches is worn, of a white thick sort
of flannel, sometimes embroidered, and sometimes simply bound with
black. The snowy shirt is adorned with a row of thick lace, and is not
tucked into the breeches, but hangs straight down. It is, however,
caught in at the waist by a very broad leather belt (in which he keeps
what money he may have). Sandals on the feet tied on with leather
thongs, and a high cap of sheep-skin with the woolly side out, complete
the costume of the young gallant. If he wants to be very smart on
Sunday he wears a flower behind his ear to have in readiness for his
sweetheart. If the weather is chilly he wears a loose short jacket over
the shirt, but in winter he has a long sheep-skin coat which covers him
completely.

One would imagine that the peasants in those remote districts would be
very unsophisticated and quite ignorant of the various little ways and
means by which the women in city life seek to enhance their charms.
This, however, is not the case. It is quite a common thing to see the
peasant girls “done up” with powder and paint to as great an extent as
their town sisters. The complexion of the Roumanians is rather dark,
but as they prefer the white and red of fairer races they do their best
in imitation.

It is very interesting to walk through a village on a summer evening.
Most of the people are sitting at their doors enjoying the cool air. A
song is heard in the distance, then another group takes it up, till the
music swells into quite a volume of sound as the singers draw nearer.
Sometimes a wood-fire is burning outside the house, and round it
friends and neighbours gather, either singing or relating stories till
far into the night. As we look round on the dark eager faces lit up by
the firelight, then at the towering mountains which surround us, and
the great golden moon hanging midway in the dark sky, we realise that
we live in a beautiful world.

The little country churches are very quaint. They are generally built
in a circular form, with no seats, just a mat on the stone floor on
which the priest stands. There is always a sort of vestibule, and
in this is the “bell,” or rather gong. It is a large metal tray,
and worshippers are called to church by repeated strokes made on it
with two stout sticks. A boy wields these sticks, and though at the
beginning the strokes are slow and measured, as the hour of service
draws nearer they become quicker and quicker till there is a regular
hail of them. Then they suddenly cease. The effect is curious and even
comical. The country priest is not at all so severe or so reserved
as his town brother. On the contrary, if anyone of a better class
visits a country church the priest will be quite willing to enter
into conversation in the intervals of the service, and he will by no
means forget to refer to the needs of the church, the poverty of the
parish, and to explain what a godsend it would be to them to get a new
altar-cloth.

Sometimes a family from Bucarest will have a fancy to celebrate a
wedding in the country. It is a very jolly event indeed. Everyone wears
Roumanian costume, the procession goes on foot to the little church,
and after the ceremony there is feasting and dancing till all hours.

But it is the real peasant wedding that is most interesting. People
are invited from far and near. The visitors arrive at the church in
_karutza_ (ox-waggons) all decorated with flowers. That of the bride
has a regular canopy over it, under which she sits embowered in flowers
of all colours.

She is accompanied to the church by her mother or some other near
relative, and given into the keeping of the young man, who awaits her
at the altar. The service is then proceeded with, and is followed by
the “holy dance” and the exchange of rings. But I shall never forget
the shock I experienced at the first country wedding at which I was
present, when I saw the bride meekly lift the husband’s hand at the end
of the service and kiss it. One may see by that that suffragettes have
not yet propagated their theories in Roumania.

The visitors at a country wedding do not go empty-handed. Even on the
day before the ceremony presents begin to arrive--very often presents
in kind, loaves and cakes of all sorts; eggs, butter, fruit, meat, and
wine. All this is very necessary indeed, when there are so many to be
fed, as the feasting is often kept up for two or three days. One of our
maids who had been invited to a wedding told me afterwards, “Oh, miss,
it was grand; not like the town weddings, when you get only a glass of
wine and a bit of cake. No, indeed; we feasted and danced and amused
ourselves for three days!”

Generally speaking, the peasants are very ignorant, and unfortunately
the townspeople are only too ready to take advantage of their ignorance
when the country folk adventure among them. Seldom having money to
handle, the peasants have only a slender knowledge of the currency
of their own country, and at one time they used to be defrauded by
the tradespeople in consequence. The currency consists of _lei_ and
_bani_; equivalent to francs and centimes. There are no Roumanian gold
coins, those current in the country being French. The one-, two-,
and five-franc coins are of silver, as is also the fifty-bani piece.
The five-bani piece, made of nickel, is exactly the same in size and
appearance as the silver fifty-bani piece, and the peasants, unable
to recognise the difference in the metals, were often fleeced. Some
time ago, however, the attention of the Government was directed to the
matter, and all five-bani pieces issued since are distinguished by a
hole pierced through them.




CHAPTER VIII

 Trade and commerce--The only strictly Roumanian shops belong to
     Princes--No English shops, though they would be welcomed--English
     catalogues unintelligible--An English firm and its “standard”
     colour--A successful English factory--The labour question, saints’
     days and names-days--German factories--Beer taxed in the interests
     of wine--Sugar and cheese factories--Sheep-milking--Petroleum
     wells in Roumania--An influx of Americans--Rockefeller’s agent, Mr
     Chamberlain and his family--How a man of gipsy origin “struck oil”
     and became a millionaire--Paper-mills and coal-mines.


I remark elsewhere that the retail trade is principally in the hands
of the Jews, although of late years a few shops have been opened on
the Calea Victorie by some of the “upper ten.” There is, for example,
the shop of Prince Stirbey, another belonging to Prince Brancovan, and
still another to M. Bratiano. These gentlemen conceived the good idea
of cultivating various kinds of produce on their farms, thus giving
employment to a considerable number of people, and then sending it to
town to be sold. Stirbey’s butter is well known as the best to be had.
His preserved fruit and vegetables are excellent, and his wine bears
comparison with the produce of the best vineyards. All the appliances
necessary for the conduct of this really important enterprise, the
casks and bottles for the wines, the jars for the fruits, etc., are
manufactured on the estate, so that employment is given to many
workers in various fields of industry.

It seems curious that the only Roumanian shops in Bucarest should be
those belonging to Princes; but so it is. It is also true, however,
that these personages merely lend their names to the undertakings, and
leave them to be carried out by those whom they employ. Perhaps, as
an example has been set by these aristocratic traders, others lower
down in the scale of society may in time be tempted to follow suit and
discover that it is not really so very derogatory to their dignity to
keep a shop.

It is a great pity that there is no English shop in Bucarest. It is
also a pity that greater facilities are not offered to Roumanians to
trade with England. As a gentleman once remarked to me, “If only an
English shop were opened here the goods would command a ready sale,
and would oust the German-made articles from the market.” But there is
no shop, and before the war there were few commercial travellers from
England to offer English goods to a sympathetic market.[1] Roumanians
like English goods, and would be eager to buy them if it were an easy
matter for them to do so. Amongst the many obstacles in the way are our
curious monetary system, and our still more curious, and even archaic,
system of weights and measures, the latter with terms which are often
only intelligible to the trade expert.

The catalogues sent out from England by business firms are printed in
English only, and therefore can only be circulated among those people
who understand the language thoroughly. Even for them the difficulties
are great. How often I have been called upon to reduce shillings to
francs, and to explain the difference between “metre” and “yard”! Then
the various contractions in a catalogue!

There are no facilities for trade between Roumania and England such as
exist between Roumania and other countries. For instance, one sends an
order to Paris or Vienna, and on the arrival of the goods in Bucarest
is advised of the fact by the postal authorities. The consignee then
proceeds to the customhouse, inspects the goods, and if satisfactory
pays the price on the spot. If not, they are sent back. But in sending
to England for goods what a difficult business it is! Say a costume
is required. First of all the measurements have to be accurately
translated into English. Then the price has to be calculated and the
money forwarded at the same time as the order. Should there be even a
trifling error, some pence too few or too many, there is trouble and
delay and the matter is difficult to arrange. I believe, however, that
there is big business to be done not only with Roumania, but with other
of the Balkan States. English people do not readily put themselves out
of the way to capture trade, nor do they easily adapt themselves to the
tastes, wishes, or customs of foreigners. Since the war there has, of
course, been the exchange difficulty, but that will not always remain.

Let me give one example of English conservatism. A certain English firm
was approached as to the sending out of some agricultural machines.
Now the peasantry of the Near East are very fond of bright colours,
such as red, blue, and green, and the first machines which arrived,
painted in a uniform shade of ugly grey, failed to please. A suggestion
was forwarded to the firm regarding the colour of the machines, but
the reply received was that grey was the standard colour which had
been decided on by the firm for all their machines and it could not be
altered. The result was that the order was cancelled.

I must not forget to mention that there is one English factory in
Roumania for the making of calico and linen. It was established some
years ago by a well-known Manchester merchant, Mr Lamb, who found it
decidedly more advantageous to have the yarn sent out from England,
and to manufacture it in the country where it was to be sold. By so
doing he escaped the enormous tax on all manufactured goods imported
into the country. The factory is a fine building, lighted throughout by
electricity. The manager’s house, a most comfortable residence, is only
a short distance away. Cottages for the workpeople, and a canteen where
food can be purchased at a reasonable rate, are also situated near the
factory. These buildings cover a quite respectable area.

It is the law in Roumania that every foreign factory must employ a
certain number of Roumanian workers--two-thirds of the whole. Therefore
only skilled workmen were brought from England, the unskilled labour
being provided in the country. Lack of skill, however, was not the
only difficulty which had to be contended with. The native workers
were unreliable and indolent--let us say at once, lazy. In going
over the factory, I was told by the foreman that even the unskilled
worker could earn from twenty to twenty-five francs weekly if he were
industrious; and one must remember that twenty-five francs (£1) counts
for considerably more in Roumania with such a class than in England, as
food is so very much cheaper. But the trouble was the indolence of the
people and the oft-recurring saints’ days. As soon as the worker had a
little money in hand he felt that he had earned the right to rest from
his labour, for a time at any rate. As for the idea that work might
be done on a saint’s day, that could not be entertained for a moment.
Naturally, under such conditions it is most difficult to carry on work
in the factory, or even to maintain a proper discipline.

I regret to learn that this factory was badly damaged during the war.

There is also an English bank in Bucarest--the old-established Bank of
Roumania, Ltd., which has always been held in the highest esteem by the
Roumanians, and serves a very important purpose in the trade relations
between the two countries.

At Azuga, on the way from Sinaia to Predeal, there are a few factories,
for the most part controlled by Germans. The glass factory is the most
interesting one to visit, as one can follow the whole process from the
mixing of the sand, potash, etc., to the turning out of the perfect
bottles and glasses. For the most part the articles turned out are of
an inferior quality, but a superior class of goods is manufactured from
time to time. For instance, some very artistic glass cups and saucers
are turned out at Azuga. They are made of fairly thick glass, quite
smooth, and finished off with a gilt band round the edge of the cup.
Wash-hand basins and jugs made of similar glass, and various little
accessories for the toilet table, are also manufactured here. A dainty
little cake-stand for afternoon tea with glass plates instead of china
on each _étage_ is a novelty that I have seen nowhere else.

A cloth manufactory in the same village turns out quite respectable
goods. The texture and finish of the material are not what could be
termed first class, but for its durability I can vouch. A cycling
costume that I had made of cloth manufactured at Azuga wore well for
years; in fact, I could not wear it out, and finally gave it away.

There are a few breweries in Roumania, and one of the best known
is at Azuga. Azuga beer is very light, not heady at all. It bears
some resemblance to Munich beer in quality but not in price. Beer in
Roumania is very expensive, a bottle about the size of a “small Bass”
costing one franc. The reason for this is the enormous tax imposed on
the output, which is at the rate of 50 per cent. The tax is imposed by
the Government in the interest of the wine-growing industry, which is
the national industry of the country.

There are a few beer-gardens in Bucarest where a military band is
engaged once or twice a week, but they are not by any means so
frequented as they would be, say, in Germany, partly owing to the cost
of the beer, and partly because it is not considered _chic_ to be
seen in a beer-garden. What a delight it is when travelling in summer
to remember that, once over the frontier, one can indulge in a cool,
foaming glass of beer at a moderate cost, the beverage being so very
much cheaper both in Hungary and Austria!

Roumania is, in parts, a wine-growing country. The grapes, although
small, have a very fine flavour. The wine is light in quality, the best
kinds being Cotnar, which resembles Tokay, the delicious Hungarian
wine, and Dragașani, a white wine with an excellent taste. Roumanian
wines are by no means expensive; one could buy a bottle of quite good
wine for one franc before the war.

Sugar factories have also been established in the country, beetroot
being of course employed in its manufacture. The sugar looks all
right; it is beautifully white, but it is very hard, takes a very long
time to melt, and does not sweeten as much as cane-sugar. It is also
rather expensive, and cost no less than 6d. per pound before the war.
A curious thing is that over the frontier, in Bulgaria or Serbia,
Roumanian sugar could be bought at a much cheaper rate than in the
country.

Cheese factories are numerous throughout the country, and in addition
to the production of the national cheeses many foreign cheeses, such as
Emmenthaler, Roquefort, etc., are fairly well imitated. Sheep’s cheese,
unknown in this country, is one of the best of the Roumanian products.
It is very white in appearance, mild to the taste, not at all piquant.

One peculiarity of sheep’s cheese is that it is made in an oblong shape
and then packed in bark. When served at table slices are cut right
through the bark. The cheese has rather a peculiar flavour from its
contact with the bark, but this is not at all disagreeable, indeed,
rather the contrary. It is sold in very small quantities, as sheep give
so little milk.

I was present once at sheep-milking time, and found it a most
entertaining sight. The sheep were driven into a small enclosure at
one corner of which was a flap-door. When the flap was raised, the
sheep nearest the door saw a means of escape from its uncomfortable
surroundings and made a dash for it, only to be caught by the hind
leg by the man seated near, who did not let go till he had got every
available drop of milk from the animal. On an average one could count
upon half a glass of milk from each sheep. But the dexterity of the man
in catching his prey, his skill in the quick milking of the animal in
spite of its struggles, then its final rush for freedom, were all very
amusing to witness.

The petrol wells of Roumania are, I should think, well known by this
time. Different companies have been formed for the working of the
wells, but the best known is the Steaua Romana, in which since the
war British capital has become largely interested. Rockefeller made a
great bid in order to get full control of the oil-fields, as Roumanian
petrol is of decidedly better quality than any other, not excluding
that of America. The negotiations were the cause of much discussion
and difference of opinion--one party wishing to accept Rockefeller’s
proposals, the other saying they were traitors to their country, and
were selling themselves and what they possessed to the Americans.
I once said to a Roumanian gentleman, “Why not form companies of
your own and work the oil-fields in your own interests?” “Oh no,” he
replied; “in selling them to the foreigners we get the money and they
do the work.” The reply may have been an indication of the natural
indolence of an eastern nation, but it was also, I think, prompted by
consideration of capital.

The discovery and consequent exploitation of petroleum in the country
caused a great influx of Americans, and therefore our British colony
was increased to a considerable extent, as Britishers and Americans
naturally hung together. As Rockefeller, in spite of obstacles, finally
succeeded in getting very large interests in the oil-fields, his agent,
Mr Chamberlain, and family resided for a considerable time in Bucarest.

The most important oil-field is that of Campina, on the way to Sinaia.
The district seems to be so saturated with oil that it has rendered
the whole countryside intolerable. One begins to smell it on leaving
Ploesti. Luckily it does not extend so far as Sinaia, otherwise that
charming resort would be rendered uninhabitable.

The discovery of petroleum has made the fortunes of many people in
Roumania. There was M. M----, for instance, who was, I believe, of
gipsy origin, as he did not even possess a surname when he began life.
By dint of industry he managed to become possessor of a small estate,
and one fine day when petrol was discovered on it he realised that he
could count himself a millionaire. He immediately took the name of his
land for his own, built a magnificent residence in the Calea Victorie,
and later on his youngest daughter formed a matrimonial alliance with a
member of the aristocracy.

A few paper-mills are to be found in the country, and a walk through
one or other of them is very interesting. Nothing but wood is employed
in the factory. The great logs are brought in direct from the
neighbouring forests, then cut up, pressed, reduced to a pulp, and
finally turned out as sheets of paper. It is chiefly paper for packing
that is made, but a certain quantity of notepaper is also made. I was
presented with a box of it, but it is of very inferior quality, and
does not possess the gloss or finish of our own.

Coal has been found in Roumania, though not in any great quantity. I
was told, however, that the quality was very good. Roumania is more an
agricultural than an industrial country, and wheat is the great source
of income. Everything, trips to Paris or Monte Carlo, new clothes,
opera-boxes, etc., turns upon the question, “Will there be a good
harvest?” When snow begins to fall early in winter, farmers are very
pleased; they say snow means gold for the country, as it protects the
seed from the severe cold and from the frost which is sure to follow.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] I am glad to learn that this reproach is no longer deserved. I am
informed that since the war a number of British firms have, by means of
wisely-selected representatives, taken advantage of the ready market,
and a profusion of British goods, notably woollens and linens, are now
to be seen in Bucarest.




CHAPTER IX

 Severe restrictions on Jews--The Jews as traders--Their vigorous
     methods--They exploit the peasants of the countryside as
     wine-shopkeepers and moneylenders--The Jews as tenants of estates
     sublet at rack rents--The original proprietor cannot see that
     he has any share of responsibility for the grinding down of the
     peasants--An anti-Jewish riot in the Lipscani--A family of Paris
     Jews make a large fortune in a fashionable shop in a few years--A
     Jewish wedding which is a double one.


Jews are not considered citizens even when natives of the country and
doing military service. They cannot be officers in the army, nor are
they allowed to rise even to the rank of corporal. No Jew can take a
bursary at a university. In Roumanian primary schools (which are free
to Roumanian children) Jews must pay, and indeed are only received when
there happens to be room for them.

Jews are not allowed to practise law or to hold any Government office
without being specially admitted to citizenship, a privilege very
difficult to obtain; and they cannot become teachers in State schools
except for foreign languages. They are not allowed to buy any property
in cities or towns.

In many towns Jews have schools of their own, as well as a hospital
and a bathing establishment. There were, roughly speaking, nearly one
million Jews in Roumania, where members of the race have been settled
for the last three hundred years. They came principally from Russia
and Galicia. In olden times, when the country was still under Turkish
rule, a Jewish king was once appointed, who, however, only reigned over
the country for the space of three days.

Jews form an important section of the population, as most of the retail
trade is carried on by them.

The young men of the upper classes in Roumania must all have
professions. They study medicine, engineering, law, or go into the
army, but soil their hands with trade they will not. That is why all
the trade of Roumania is in the hands of the Jews. They are shopkeepers
or moneylenders, but it will be noticed that no Jew or Jewess ever
undertakes menial service.

In the Strada Lipscani and the neighbouring streets almost all the
shopkeepers are Jews, and when business is slack they are always to be
found at their shop doors pressing the passers-by to enter and inspect
the goods.

Woe to any unsophisticated peasant who ventures to go alone to that
neighbourhood to buy some article of clothing; he risks being torn in
pieces. I witnessed an occurrence one day which highly amused me. A man
of the poorer class was sauntering along looking at the different suits
of clothes exposed to view, evidently with the intention of buying one.
Suddenly he was seized upon by two opposing shopkeepers, each of whom
began at once to drag the poor man in the direction of his particular
shop, at the same time extolling his wares in a loud voice. At first
the man laughed, taking it as a joke, but he was soon convinced that
his captors meant serious business. He was pulled to one shop, then
to the other, again and again, until I began to expect every moment
that the sleeves would be torn out of his coat. However, in the end
the stronger of the two shopkeepers gained the victory, and landed his
prize safely in his shop. Very probably he did not let him out again
till he had spent most, if not all, of the money he had in his pocket.

Jews are not liked in Roumania, although the Roumanians are ready
enough to resort to them when they are in money difficulties. They
demand an exorbitant interest on any money lent, the rate not being
regulated in Roumania as it is, for instance, in France; and this
circumstance probably helps to intensify the feeling of dislike that
many have for the Jews.

The Jew has it all his own way in the country districts, and is hated
accordingly. He runs the cabaret or wine-shop, but is quite willing
to lend money at the same time. When the peasant has had bad crops,
or been too lazy to work, he has recourse to the Jew, to whom he must
give good security for the money he borrows. The result is in most
cases that one head of his stock after another falls into the clutches
of the moneylender, their owner finding it impossible to redeem them,
and he may count himself lucky if he gets out of the Jew’s hands still
having a roof over his head. The Roumanians are an improvident race,
and the fault lies on their side as much as on that of the Jews,
although they will never confess it. All their railings are against the
exorbitant interest demanded from them. It is not to be denied that the
Jew oppresses them when he gets the chance; but then why give him the
chance?

Those people too of the better class who possess some land but do not
wish to trouble about the working of it, generally let it to a Jew, as
he offers a better price than anyone else. He in his turn sublets it,
and naturally demands the highest price he can get. Then the Roumanian
laments about how the poor peasantry are ground down by the Jews; but,
as I remarked once to a gentleman, “Why then let your land out to a
Jew?” “Well, you see, he pays a better price,” was the naïve reply. So
it seemed to me there was no difference whatever between the two. The
Roumanian was not unwilling to profit by the Jew, who in his turn got
it out of the people under him.

On the whole, Jews are fairly well treated in Roumania. Sometimes the
always-present underlying irritation against them finds vent in a
sudden raid on their shops by an angry mob.

Such a raid occurred some years ago, and I was an eye-witness of many
of the incidents. Most damage was caused in the Lipscani, where the
shop windows were smashed and the goods strewn about the street. But,
in spite of all this damage, I did not hear of any authenticated case
in which a Jew suffered bodily harm. Of course they had to lie low for
a time, but little by little they ventured to reopen their shops and
have them repaired, and all went on as before.

The Roumanian authorities received all claims for damages, and
reimbursed the claimants; but a few of the better-class firms refused
to put in any claim--they were magnanimous enough to bear the loss.
Probably they thought to themselves that they could put on an extra
franc or two on all goods in the future and so indemnify themselves.
The Jew is wily enough to take care of his own interests.

A Jew once came from Paris to help in a shop kept by Jews. After some
time he sent for his brother, who also entered the business, which
presently succeeded so well that the establishment was enlarged. A
brother-in-law and his wife then arrived, till finally the whole family
installed themselves in the Lipscani, and took over the business
themselves from the original proprietors. All articles of clothing, of
the toilet, everything, in fact, was brought from Paris, which was, of
course, a great attraction for the Roumanians. The shop finally became
the most fashionable establishment in Bucarest, and succeeded so well
that the whole family at length returned to Paris, having amassed
a considerable fortune. The shop passed into the hands of a Swiss
company, whether Jews or not I cannot say, but the business lost to
some extent its high-class character.

There are two Jewish synagogues in Bucarest, the one more recently
built being a very fine building indeed. I went there once to a Jewish
wedding, and found it most interesting. On such an occasion there
always stands at the entrance to the synagogue a group of gentlemen,
one of whom at once offers his arm and leads you to a seat. The time
before the arrival of the bride is well employed in admiring the
costumes of the ladies, which show that no expense has been spared, and
also noting the preparations for the ceremony, which seem strange to
our unaccustomed eyes.

At the upper end of the synagogue is a raised platform with a canopy
over it. On the platform is a table on which there is a carafe of wine
and one small goblet, and near the table sits the expectant bridegroom,
with his hat on, awaiting the bride. The bridesmaids and near relatives
have seats also quite near the platform. At length, when everyone’s
eyes are anxiously turned towards the door to catch the first glimpse
of the bride, a distant sound of singing is heard. The sound draws
nearer, and then one sees that it is the Rabbi, who comes slowly up the
synagogue chanting and looking curiously at the people present, who are
assuredly not all Jews. The Rabbi on this particular occasion squints,
the effect being most comical as he casts his eyes now to the right and
now to the left. A few minutes later the bride arrives and comes slowly
up the aisle, all in bridal white, unaccompanied, save by her mother,
who follows some paces behind.

The bride and groom now take their stand under the canopy, and the
service begins. There is a good deal of chanting, and finally the
moment arrives when the wine is offered. The bridegroom drinks first,
and then presents the goblet to the bride. The goblet is then smashed,
as it must not be used again under any circumstances. At the end of the
service congratulations are offered, and the wedding-party proceeds to
the house of the bride in order to partake of the wedding-feast.

The marriage at which I was present was a double one, two sisters being
married at the same time. The younger of the two was pretty, and had
been engaged for some months (a rare occurrence, as Jewish engagements
are of short duration), but the parents would not hear of the wedding
taking place till a husband could be found for the elder girl. The
younger to marry first was a thing not to be thought of. Finally, a
suitable _parti_ was found, and the two sisters were married on the
same day.




CHAPTER X

 The educational system--Long hours of study and no fresh air or
     exercise--Take Jonescu, as Minister of Education, introduces
     the bath-tub to the schools, and provides for walking
     exercise--School-fare is never good--A water famine--Examinations
     and show questions--English poetry translated literally--German
     literature taught in _French_, the pupils being examined in
     _Roumanian_--Lack of books in the Roumanian language--The school
     fêtes--Convents and proselytising--A girl who despised all the
     pleasures of the world and ran away to become a nun.


Education is free and compulsory throughout Roumania, but in many
rural districts non-attendance at school is winked at, especially at
harvest-time. The Government primary schools in the capital are chiefly
attended by the lower classes; children of the better-class families
either attend private schools or have instruction at home. But in any
case children are expected to present themselves at the Government
examinations, and to pass the first four classes.

Private schools in the capital are usually well attended, some having
as many as four hundred pupils, the children from the provinces always
being sent to Bucarest for their education. Although very much is
expected from Roumanian children, they are sadly handicapped. Their
own tongue is grossly neglected, instruction being usually given them
in French. They are, besides, taught English and German, and sometimes
Latin and Greek. A great deal of attention is devoted to music and
painting, and of late years practical training in dressmaking, cooking,
and housekeeping is given in the schools.

Naturally, with so many subjects in the curriculum, there is not much
time to lose if one is to get all one’s work done for the next day
in a certain time. Very many written exercises are demanded of the
pupils, in all languages, the consequence being that the handwriting is
atrocious, and time is too limited to allow of any improvement being
even attempted in this direction.

School begins at 8 o’clock a.m., continuing till midday, when there is
an interval for dinner and recreation till 2 o’clock. Lessons are then
resumed, and continue till 6 p.m. Of course this does not mean that
every child is continually occupied for eight hours. A pupil may have
only four classes to attend on one day, perhaps five on another day, or
sometimes only three--but the rest of the time must be devoted to the
preparation of lessons for the next day. Preparation ended, the pupil
may employ herself as she likes, provided she remains quiet, as, of
course, lessons may be going on in the class-room in which she has no
part.

These hours are very long, and when one considers that no time is given
for outdoor exercise, one cannot wonder that the children grow up puny
and stunted. In a well-known school in Bucarest outdoor exercise, fresh
air, and baths were unknown. The class-rooms were overheated, there
being a large stove in each, and windows were never opened. Once a
fortnight the children of so many classes (they were taken in rotation)
were assembled in the recreation room, where the washing of their feet
was supervised by the German governess with all due solemnity! This was
the only concession to cleanliness, as of course colds would have to be
risked if further ablutions were indulged in!

These customs were somewhat changed a few years ago (perhaps I may
be permitted to say that it was upon my representation), when Mons.
Take Jonescu became Minister of Instruction. He, as an intelligent and
enlightened man, readily saw the evils that were certain to accrue
to the youth of the country from such an upbringing. Regulations
were framed insisting upon baths being provided in all public and
private schools, and upon time being allowed for the children to
take a walk daily of at least an hour. These innovations were by no
means favourably received at the time either by heads of schools or
by the children themselves, and it would not astonish me to learn
that things have fallen back into the old way. Breakfast is served
at 7 o’clock, consisting of a cup of coffee and a _kipfel_ (small
roll) without butter. Midday is the luncheon hour, when the dishes
are generally varied, but never appetising (school-fare never is).
Sometimes meat is served stewed with quinces, potatoes, or other
vegetables, and a pudding made of maize flour liberally besprinkled
with grated cheese. At 4 o’clock a piece of dry bread is given to
each child, and at 6 o’clock comes dinner. This generally consists of
a thin soup, rarely palatable, the second course being the meat from
which the soup has been made. Surely such meat was never seen anywhere
else! It is generally perfectly white, as if it had been stewed until
every drop of nourishment had been extracted from it. This, together
with vegetables, forms the second course. If a governess cannot bring
herself to swallow it, or can plead a bad headache, she may be allowed
a _bifteck_; but as the beef-steaks are difficult to distinguish from a
bit of shoe-leather, little is gained by the exchange.

Stewed fruit, or a light pudding, ends the evening meal. The
governesses are allowed a glass of the thin red wine of the country,
but the children are obliged to slake their thirst with water. Such
water! It used to look as if a tiny drop of milk had fallen into it
by mistake, and had left it a muddy colour. The water of Bucarest was
very bad when I first went there, but of late years it has greatly
improved, as filtering-beds have been arranged for the water to pass
through before entering the capital. A scheme was mooted for bringing
water from Sinaia, but as the cost would have been very great, the plan
was not proceeded with. If it had, there would be no capital in Europe
better provided with water, as that of Sinaia is the best I have ever
tasted. Clear as crystal, and perfectly cold, as all mountain water is,
it forms a refreshing draught on a hot summer day.

But even in the mountains the supply may run short, as happened one
exceedingly hot summer. I was at Sinaia at the time, and it was the
only occasion in my whole life when I envied a queen. I heard that her
Majesty alone amongst all the people of the land was able to indulge in
the luxury of a daily bath.

But to return. The examinations are usually in the month of June, both
State examinations and those in private schools. Upon the occasion
of the first school examination at which I was present I did feel
astonished. The room in which it was held looked rather imposing,
being handsomely decorated with tall plants and plenty of flowers. The
relatives and friends of the pupils had been invited to be present,
and a goodly number responded. A class came up to be examined in
German grammar, but to my amazement only two questions were put by the
teacher. These two questions _were put alternately to every pupil in
the class_, and the first answer being correct, all the others were
of course also correct, as each pupil interrogated had just heard the
reply of the preceding pupil.

The explanation--such as it was--came later on. In preparing my own
class (for I had an engagement at this school for a short time), I
was instructed by the headmistress as to the questions to be asked.
She remarked, “It makes such a bad impression if the pupils fail to
answer correctly!” English poetry was learned by heart, first being
translated _literally_ word by word. They would have been remarkably
clever children who could have made any sense whatever out of it as so
rendered; but the headmistress decreed that it should be so, and so it
had to be.

German was even more curiously taught. Roumanian children do not like
German, so they are never very proficient in it. Not knowing the
language sufficiently well to study in it, German literature was taught
in _French_; and when the girls presented themselves for the State
examination, they were questioned in _Roumanian_!

One may wonder why they do not learn in their own tongue; the
explanation is, to a large extent, simply the lack of books.[2] There
are no advanced books in the Roumanian language dealing with foreign
subjects, so the children are obliged to use French, a language in
which they are more or less proficient.

Holidays in Roumania are much longer than in England--three weeks at
Christmas, two weeks at Easter, and from three to three and a half
months in summer, besides the numerous saints’ days, which are always
religiously kept.

Just before breaking up for the summer holidays, some of the private
schools give a little fête. The children act a short play; there are
various songs and pianoforte solos as part of the entertainment,
and then dancing is indulged in till a late hour. At one of these
entertainments I happened to be present, and was very much--shall I
merely say--amused? to find that although dancing was kept up for the
visitors (the children were sent to bed) till 3 a.m., nothing more
substantial than a _dulçeata_ was provided by way of refreshments. At
some of the schools the “names-day” of the headmistress is observed
as a holiday. Each child must perforce contribute a certain sum
towards the gift that is to be presented. I have heard some dilatory
ones admonished in class to bring their contribution not later than a
certain date, as the present had then to be bought.

A considerable sum of money is thus collected, and as the recipient of
the present is always sounded as to her wishes, a very practical as
well as a handsome gift is usually obtained. One present I remember
seeing consisted of three lovely carpets of Roumanian manufacture,
really beautiful in design.

After the presentation the children are of course free for the rest of
the day, and are regaled with bon-bons, as a slight return for their
generosity.

Roumanian children are often sent for their education to one or other
of the Roman Catholic convents scattered throughout the country, the
nuns of which invariably belong to some French sisterhood. Some years
ago there was a great stir in Bucarest, and considerable feeling
was aroused against the nuns, as they were accused of trying to
proselytise. An outcry was raised by the people that the faith of
their forefathers was in danger (not that I ever saw it religiously
adhered to), and some society ladies having leisure just then for a
new fad, banded themselves together in order to protect it. A service
was held in St George’s, one of the principal churches, after which
a procession was formed and passed through the streets to the palace
of the Metropolitan, in order to present him with an address assuring
him of the constant adherence of the people of the country to their
own religion, and protesting at the same time against any attempts to
subvert their children.

The agitation caused considerable talk for a time and then died a
natural death. But it is a fact that Roumanian girls who have been
educated in a French convent rarely retain a genuine love for their
own country, its customs, or its language. That is one reason why the
Roumanian language is so much neglected. It has happened that girls who
have been educated in France fall utterly under the influence of the
nuns, and go over to Roman Catholicism.

I remember the case of one girl who did so. She was a Greek, living in
Bucarest with her parents, who, although they were not rich, did what
they thought best for their only child in sending her to Paris to be
educated. The girl was very musical, and probably the nuns thought she
would be useful to them on that account although she had no money. She
returned to her parents in course of time, but was always restless,
wishing to return to the convent, and finally confessed to her mother
her great desire to become a nun. Her mother, being very much against
the idea, set before her all the disadvantages that would accrue from
such a course, and in order to distract her from dwelling upon it gave
her every amusement that was in her power. Balls, concerts, fêtes
followed each other in quick succession, but all proved unavailing. The
girl left home one afternoon, ostensibly to visit a friend, and the
next that was heard of her was a telegram from the frontier informing
her parents that she was on her way back to the convent. She became a
nun, and as far as I know she was lost to her parents. This was not by
any means the only case of which I had knowledge.


FOOTNOTES:

[2] I believe that, since the period--several years ago--of which I
write, this state of affairs has been remedied to a considerable extent.




CHAPTER XI

 Take Jonescu, an enlightened Minister of Education--“La bouche
     d’or”--His personality--A true Roumanian in his almost Oriental
     love of luxury--His town and country houses--Madame Jonescu as
     an authoress--Her menagerie of pets--The love-story of Take
     Jonescu--The meeting of the law student and the English girl--A
     trip to England follows--Obstacles are overcome and a happy
     marriage follows.


Take Jonescu, as he is familiarly known all over Roumania (Take
being the diminutive of Demetre) was a most enlightened Minister of
Education. He is an exceptionally clever man; gifted with powers of
oratory far above the average, and is known in his own country as
“La bouche d’or.” Although Take Jonescu has never yet been Prime
Minister, it is certain that he will one day be called upon to occupy
that position, which he is so well qualified to fill. He has held
successively the portfolios of Justice, Education, and Finance, and is
now rendering signal service to his country as Foreign Minister.

When the Conservative party is not in power, M. Jonescu follows his
profession. He is the most brilliant advocate in Roumania, and the side
that succeeds in retaining his services in a case is almost certain of
success.

It has been asserted that M. Jonescu is a rich man, but this is
scarcely the case. He has little or no _private_ means, being simply
dependent upon his professional income, which is, however, very large.
It is for him a very great sacrifice (from a monetary point of view)
to accept a portfolio, as the salary paid to a cabinet minister in
Roumania is only 30,000 francs (£1200).

In private life M. Jonescu has a charming personality. He is most
kind-hearted, and ready to take the utmost trouble to help anyone in
time of difficulty. His kind deeds are innumerable, and are always
performed in such a modest manner that they are very often unheard of
by the general public. The just cause of many a poor client has been
espoused by Take Jonescu without thought or hope of reward.

He is a true Roumanian in his almost Oriental love of luxury. His town
house in Bucarest is imposing. It is beautifully furnished, and always
hospitably open to foreign visitors. But it was his villa at Sinaia
in the Carpathians--where the present writer has often had the good
fortune to be a guest--which excited the greatest admiration. It was a
charmingly situated and perfectly appointed house, commanding a lovely
view of the valley of the Prahova, and was an ideal home in which to
recruit from the cares of professional or political life.

Many English guests were entertained there, and this is largely due to
the fact that the late Madame Jonescu was herself an Englishwoman. She
was possessed of great musical talent and was an authoress of no mean
repute, as those can testify who have read her fascinating book _Only a
Singer_. She was an able helpmeet for her husband, endowed as she was
with very real abilities.

Both husband and wife were great lovers of animals, and it may almost
be said that they possessed a small menagerie--dogs, deer, a bear, and
a monkey being amongst their pets. It was chiefly owing to the efforts
of Madame Jonescu that the “Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals” established itself in Bucarest, where the work has long been
carried on in a most efficient manner.

Of the ten dogs that Madame Jonescu possessed some years ago “Charlie”
was decidedly the favourite. A large retriever, with a fine head
and honest brown eyes, Charlie was made much of by everybody, and
consequently thought much of himself. He was very fond of driving, and
when the carriage came to the door for an afternoon’s visiting, Charlie
seemed to think it was there for his special benefit. He always jumped
into the carriage first, and there remained barking with all his might
till in desperation someone would place a rolled-up newspaper in his
mouth. Then perforce he became quiet, as he would not let go anything
entrusted to him until permitted to do so.

Poor Charlie suffered very much in summer from the heat, and therefore
at such times as his mistress was abroad, Charlie became a boarder at
the Hotel Joseph in Sinaia. As the favourite dog of his mistress, he
was treated by all the waiters with great respect, not one of them
even presuming to speak of him other than as Domnele Charlie, _i.e._
Master Charlie. Every afternoon he was taken for a constitutional,
either by one of the waiters or by a visitor who could be trusted. It
was considered quite a privilege to be permitted to take Charlie for a
walk. In spite of all this care, poor Charlie had to go the way of all
flesh, and he had many successors in his mistress’s affections.

Another favourite pet was a bear which had been presented by a
gentleman returning from the Caucasian mountains. This bear roamed at
will in the courtyard, his further excursions being prevented by a man
armed with a big stick, who was supposed to be always on guard.

If this man happened to be off duty for a short time, it was then
Master Bruin’s great delight to penetrate into the house, much to the
consternation of the maids. He proved such an adept at opening doors
that one only felt safe when they were locked.

One afternoon Madame Jonescu was seated in the drawing-room chatting
with some visitors. A slight noise was heard at the door, which slowly
opened, giving entrance to Master Bear. Great was the dismay among
the ladies, who completely lost their heads and fled to every corner
of the room. Fortunately Madame Jonescu retained her presence of mind
(she had no fear whatever of animals), took the bear by the collar and
gently led him to the door. Once there, a call soon brought the bear’s
attendant to the rescue, who took possession of his charge with strict
injunctions not to allow him so much liberty in future.

As time went on, Bruin became too great a burden, so was given over to
the authorities in Sinaia to place in the small menagerie that they had
established near the monastery.

Before leaving the subject of pets, I may just mention one other--the
monkey.

Armina by name and vicious by nature, this animal was not a favourite
with anyone but her mistress. Although confined in a very strong cage,
her fits of temper were so violent that she sometimes succeeded in
breaking one or two of the bars. Once out of the cage, she careered
up the trees and along the roofs of the neighbouring houses, and it
was a work of great difficulty to induce her to return. The policeman
who patrolled the street, and who had already made the acquaintance of
Armina--indeed he was a special favourite with her--had often to be
appealed to for assistance. It was very amusing to see how readily she
responded to his blandishments, and he would return in triumph with
Armina snugly cuddled up in his arms. The policeman was very proud of
his friendship with Madame Jonescu’s pet, and went so far as to have
himself photographed with Armina in his arms.

I am tempted here into a digression to tell a little story in which
this same policeman figured. I think I have not mentioned before that
Mr Alfred Richards, the brother of Madame Jonescu and a member of
the English bar, spent some years in Roumania, where he was a great
favourite in all circles. His health was delicate and the climate
suited him. Mr Richards died a few years ago in England.

On one occasion Mr Richards was entrusted by King Carol with a special
mission to the Porte. He chose to take with him as a sort of official
attendant our friend (and Armina’s) the policeman. Mr Richards was
decorated by the Sultan on the accomplishment of his mission, and it
was expected that the policeman would receive some acknowledgment in
accordance with his humble rank. I daresay small things interested us
in that distant land, but I remember there was much speculation as to
what Gheorgie would get, and what he would do with it. In the result
we learned that he received from the Sultan a very considerable sum of
money as a tip, and spent the whole of it on a splendid diamond ring; a
curious investment, but by no means always a bad one in Bucarest.

The love story of M. and Mme. Jonescu was of a romantic nature. He was
a young student travelling to Paris in order to finish his studies when
a very pretty young English girl entered the compartment in which he
was seated. Seeing that she was travelling alone, he gave her, as a
gallant Roumanian, every assistance in his power. Susceptible to beauty
as all Roumanians are, it was with him a real case of love at first
sight. He followed up his advantage so eagerly, that Paris for the time
was forgotten, and he crossed to England at once in order to make the
acquaintance of the young lady’s parents. There were some obstacles,
but in spite of them love carried the day, and that part of the story
ended in a happy marriage.




CHAPTER XII

 The National Theatre--The students’ riot on behalf of the national
     language--Racing as a fashionable amusement--English jockeys
     and trainers--The Battle of Flowers--The devotees of the
     card-table--Rafting on the Bistritza, a glorious sport.


The Roumanians as an Eastern nation have all the Oriental’s love
of show, of glitter, and of pleasure. Theatres, concerts, and
cinematographs are always well attended. Unfortunately very late hours
are kept, no entertainment beginning before 9 o’clock p.m., and as
the Roumanian has the Oriental’s dislike of punctuality, the hour is
very often still later. After the theatre, which is only over between
midnight and 1 a.m., it is _de rigueur_ to go to Capsa’s to drink tea
or eat an ice, according to the season. It is no wonder that Bucarest
is called a little Paris; it resembles that gay city very much,
especially in its night-life. No matter at what hour of the night
you drive through Calea Victorie, the street is always brilliantly
illuminated, cafés and restaurants are open, and numbers of people are
still walking about.

As a rule the Roumanians are not very keen on their own theatre, but
when a foreign company of actors is announced (especially if it is a
French company) there is a rush for seats. Prices are raised on such
occasions, as much as 300 francs being charged for a box.

There are two fairly decent theatres in Bucarest, the National and
the Lyric. The former was the scene of a great disturbance one
evening a few years ago. Some society ladies wished to perform
a play, the proceeds to be devoted to charity. This was quite a
laudable object, but the manner in which they designed to carry it
out met with opposition on the part of a section of the public. The
play, it was announced, was to be performed in _French_ and at the
_National_ Theatre. Anyone who has lived in Bucarest will be fully
aware of the dislike of society ladies to everything distinctively
Roumanian--whether it be the language, the customs, or anything else.
On the other hand some of the people, and especially the students, see
no reason why their own language should be so neglected, and on this
particular occasion they determined to protest. The National Theatre,
they declared, was for the national drama in the national speech. The
persons responsible for the projected entertainment paid no attention
whatever to the general discontent, but continued their rehearsals. The
evening arrived, but long before the hour fixed for the performance
the square in front of the theatre was filled with immense crowds of
students and others, whom no efforts of the police could disperse.
Access was also gained to the building itself and it was held against
all comers. National songs were sung, and the crowd gradually became so
excited that it was ripe for any mischief.

Woe betide anyone who tried to enter the National Theatre that night.
Each carriage as it arrived was immediately surrounded, the horses
taken out, the windows smashed, and the occupants could think
themselves lucky if they escaped with nothing worse than a torn
dress or a knocked-in hat. The damage done in the neighbourhood was
considerable, windows were smashed, and one house especially was almost
wrecked. The rumour ran that in the mêlée a student had been killed,
and was concealed in the theatre, but although this excited the crowd
to frenzy, no confirmation of the report was ever forthcoming. In the
end the students carried their point and the play was not performed.

Some time after this a society was formed, the members of which bound
themselves to protect the Roumanian language, to speak it in public and
private, and not allow it to be ousted from its place as the national
tongue. From this date the National Theatre was reserved for Roumanian
plays. The Lyric, which is a much smaller theatre, was given up to
foreign companies.

Riding is not practised in Bucarest to any great extent. A few ladies
have been stirred to emulation of Queen Marie, who is an expert
horsewoman, but they are only a few. Roumanians are, it must always be
remembered, an Eastern people, and they do not show great aptitude for
violent exercise of any kind.

Some members of the Jockey Club (formed by an Englishman years ago)
keep a stud of horses, and races are held twice a year, in spring and
autumn. These races are very notable events, and they are very well
attended, as they are always patronised by members of the royal family,
and of course everybody who is anybody must follow suit.

Very smart costumes are ordered for the occasion, one well-known leader
of fashion vies with another as to which will be smarter, and it would
be a bold person who would aver that the vast concourse of people
assembled on the race-course is simply there to follow the events of
the programme, or from a general love of horses. I rather lean to the
opinion that the majority go in order to study the toilets.

It very often happens that these toilets are spoiled before the day is
over by the rain coming down in torrents. It has been remarked time
after time that rain is sure to fall on the first day of the races, and
fall it generally does with a vengeance.

The jockeys are of course all English; indeed, M. Marghiloman has a
small English colony on his estate--a trainer, and several jockeys, who
with their wives and families make up quite a population. M. D---- also
keeps a stud, and of course the army officers take part in turf matters
and enter their horses for different races. The “Derby” (on a small
scale) is _the_ race; I believe the prize is 5000 francs (£200), and is
always given by the Jockey Club.

The month of June was generally decided upon for the “Battle of
Flowers,” an event which always took place at the Chaussée, this
popular drive lending itself much better to such purposes than any
other of the places of public resort. The “Battle of Flowers” was
arranged by the ladies of Bucarest society, the proceeds being devoted
to some charitable purpose--“La Crèche” (the foundling hospital) or
some similar institution. If the day were fine the Chaussée presented
a very animated appearance from an early hour in the afternoon, all
the economical souls going as early as possible in order to take
possession of the numerous benches along the route, and thus avoid the
expense of a chair.

The Chaussée is situated at the end of the town and is something
similar to the Prater in Vienna, but on a much smaller scale. There is
a broad carriage way, planted on both sides with beautiful lime trees,
extending for miles, till it finally ends in the open country. At each
side of this broad way is a walk for pedestrians, well furnished with
seats, and at the right is also a pathway for riders. The Chaussée, it
may be imagined, is very gay when, added to its natural beauties, it
is tastefully decorated with pretty devices here and there, and the
national colours of Roumania.

Let me briefly describe the last battle I was present at a year or two
ago.

In the booths at the entrance pretty girls were stationed to whom we
willingly paid the entrance fee of one franc. For decorated carriages
the charge was 10 francs, non-decorated 5 francs, and bicycles 2
francs. Bands were stationed at regular intervals along the route,
enlivening the proceedings with their strains. As the gaily decorated
carriages began to arrive, the excitement grew. There was lavish
admiration for the first on the scene, but as carriage after carriage
rolled by, one prettier than the other, we could only gaze and gaze
and admire. I remember that Mme. C.’s carriage, decorated with great
bouquets of white marguerites and scarlet poppies, scored a great
success on this occasion. Then the officers’ brake appeared, not only
decorated with flowers, but containing a bevy of pretty young girls,
each one wearing a very effective crimson head-dress made of paper.
There followed a peasant ox-waggon decorated in true country fashion
with a canopy of foliage and bunches of field flowers. Here again life
interest was given to the picture by a pretty group of young girls all
dressed in Roumanian costume. Here and there a rider with a decorated
saddle, or a cyclist with some fantastic floral display, excited some
applause, but the admiration was universal when Princess Marie (as she
then was) arrived in her carriage splendidly adorned with roses of all
colours. Princess Elizabeth, who drove her smart little dog-cart, also
came in for a liberal and well-deserved share of admiration. She and
her perfect little equipage made a charming picture.

Now the battle began in real earnest. As the two lines of carriages
passed and repassed each other, the air seemed full of dainty little
bouquets, thrown from one carriage to another. The pedestrians on the
foot-paths took part also in the gay contest, and there was many a
merry interchange not only of flowers, but of jests, as acquaintances
recognised each other in the crowd. Princess Marie scarcely took any
part in the fighting, she was so bombarded on all sides that she could
find few opportunities for exchanges. I was pleased, however, that I
succeeded in getting a rose from her. The Princess never stayed very
long at the Battle of Flowers. Being a constant centre of hostilities,
she was bombarded to such an extent that probably she did not find it
very amusing.

As the dinner-hour drew near the carriages began to wend their way
homewards. Some very enthusiastic fighters kept it up for an hour or so
longer, ending up the day with a final drive through the town, where
they were gaily acclaimed from the crowded balconies, and attempts were
made on both sides to carry on the fight. However, little by little the
streets became quieter, and nothing remained of the Battle of Flowers
but the poor faded blooms dropped from the carriages, and the very
substantial profits for the benefit of “La Crèche.”

Roumanians of both sexes are devotees of the card-table, and all sorts
of games are played--bridge, tarok, mouse, and poker are the most
popular, but the last named seems to be the favourite. Cards are played
not only in Bucarest but also in the provinces, and women, old and
young, take an enormous amount of interest in the pastime. Card-playing
seems to be a mania with them. They sit down to the tables in the early
afternoon and continue playing till far into the night. Of course it
must be conceded that life in the provinces is deadly dull. In summer
it is pleasant enough when there are garden-parties, tennis-matches,
and concerts; but in winter there is absolutely no amusement, so that
card-playing is the only resource.

No evening party can ever be successful without the inevitable
card-table, and very great sums are lost and won during the evening;
sums that very often the persons concerned can ill afford to lose.

As I have mentioned elsewhere, most of the rivers in Roumania are very
shallow, but the river Bistritza is certainly an exception. This great
stream flows through part of Moldavia, and is very much used in the
transit of timber from the mountainous regions higher up. The timber
is floated down on huge rafts, and a great amusement during the summer
months is to hire such a raft (it can be had for twenty francs) and
make the excursion down the river.

The raft is composed of numbers of stout logs firmly lashed together,
and is about 12 feet long by 6 wide. The passengers sit in as
comfortable a position as they can adopt, and as there is nothing
whatever to take hold of, great care must be exercised to keep it
well in mid-stream so that no collision may take place. The current
is very swift, therefore the task of the men steering the raft is not
always an easy one. There are always numerous rafts on the river, some
with passengers, and some without, so the scene is very animated and
interesting as one drifts along through some of the loveliest river
scenery in Roumania.

The river runs swirling and seething in a succession of slight rapids.
The mountains, wooded down to the water’s edge, leave in places just a
narrow gorge where only one raft can pass at a time. There are numerous
turns and twists in the river, and when it is swollen by the waters of
the Bicassu, as is often the case, the rapids appear like a boiling
sea, the little waves foaming and hissing round the points of rock.
It needs skilful paddling on the part of the raftsman to avoid these
miniature “Iron Gates,” and very often disaster overtakes the smaller
rafts; they get stranded and more or less knocked about by the seething
waters if they are in the hands of an unskilful raftsman.

When night falls a mooring-place must be found for the raft, and a
shelter for the passengers, and herein lies one of the disadvantages of
such an excursion. The small inns that are to be met with in this part
of the country are very primitive and the accommodation very scanty.
Such as it is, however, one must make the best of it, as the only
alternative is to spend the night on the raft.

If the weather conditions be favourable this trip on the Bistritza
can be made most enjoyable, and most visitors to the country will
have delightful recollections of the smooth, swift motion down the
river, with the brown waters swirling and eddying round the raft, the
sun-flecked boughs now near now far away as the raft approaches or
recedes from the bank.




CHAPTER XIII

 The blessing of the waters: a picturesque ceremony--Diving for the
     cross--Baptising the Jew--The child rain-makers; a charming
     custom--How I watered the human plants--The peasants celebrate the
     sowing of the seed.


In the month of January a very curious ceremony takes place, the
blessing of the waters--that is, of all the rivers of Roumania. A
similar ceremony is performed in Russia, so it probably owes its origin
to the Greek Church.

A very smart pavilion, decorated with a profusion of gay flags, is
erected for the occasion on the bank of the Dimbovitza, the river on
which Bucarest is built.

On the morning of the appointed day, crowds throng the streets dressed
in their best, expectancy depicted on every face. Roumanians love shows
of every kind and would not miss one for anything. The crowd becomes
denser as one approaches the pavilion, and it is with difficulty that
the soldiers manage to keep a passage clear for the arrival of the
royal family.

The approach of the King is announced by a fanfare of trumpets, and as
the Court carriage dashes up to the entrance of the pavilion every neck
is craned to catch a glimpse of his Majesty, who is accompanied by his
suite, and sometimes by other members of the royal family.

After the reception of the King by the Metropolitan, the religious
service begins with the intoning of the prayers. These can only be
heard by those in the near vicinity, but the singing by the choir is
audible for a long distance in the clear frosty air. When a certain
stage of the proceedings is reached, the Metropolitan invokes the
blessing on the waters of Roumania, at the same time casting a large
wooden cross into the river. This is the cue for what is the great
event of the day for many people. Large numbers of men and boys who
have been waiting in eager anticipation instantly dive after the cross
(the river is not very deep at this point), and the lucky person who
succeeds in gaining possession of it and bringing it ashore is rewarded
by the King with a hundred-franc note (£4). The spectacle of the poor
wretch emerging shivering from the icy water makes one feel, especially
when the snow is on the ground and a keen wind blowing, that he has
well earned the money.

Woe to the unlucky Jew who ventures to linger in the neighbourhood of
the Dimbovitza on this particular morning. Should he be remarked by the
crowd the chances are that he too will be sent to seek the cross in the
waters of the river. This “baptising of the Jew” is a time-honoured
ceremony.

A very curious custom is observed when, as is frequently the case in
summer, rain is badly needed. A band of children go into the woods and
array themselves from head to foot in verdure. Chains and garlands of
green are wound around their bodies. Crowns and wreaths of foliage,
quaintly and artistically conceived, surround their heads. Even
bunches of grass are disposed about them. Save their little brown
faces, nothing which is not verdant can be seen.

When they come rushing into your courtyard it is as though a little
Birnam Wood were bent on coming to Dunsinane. However, they soon prove
to have peaceful business on hand, for they form up in the courtyard
and perform a singularly weird and impressive dance. When this is ended
your turn comes, for you must go amongst them armed with watering
pots, and even jugs of water, and liberally besprinkle the little
rain-makers. I was reluctant at first to wet the children, but they
appeared to enjoy it so much, shaking themselves delightedly when a
deluge more copious than usual descended upon them, that I soon forgot
my scruples and plied my watering pot with enthusiasm. Then the little
moving bundles of green scrambled for a few handfuls of _bani_, and
ran off to the next house to repeat their performance. Had we failed
to water them well their mission as rain-makers would have been less
likely to prove successful.

On a day in early spring the peasants of the surrounding country
make high holiday in honour of the sowing of the seed. The form the
celebration takes is a visit to the capital, which, indeed, seems to
be practically given over to them for the day. From early morn the
holiday-makers stream into the city, their teams of oxen and their
waggons profusely decorated with gay flowers and green branches,
affording a pretty spectacle. The peasant himself is in gala attire,
and never forgets to have a flower behind his ear, as he may meet in
the town a damsel comelier than those he left behind in the country.

The rustic visitors promenade the principal streets with their teams
amidst much noise and laughter and the incessant cracking of whips.
They are always pleased to accept any small gift offered to them,
and it must be said of them that the festivity is never marred by
drunkenness or license. After a modest glass of _țuica_ they wend their
way homewards, reckoning up the profits of the day and anxious to
relate to those who have remained at home the story of their adventures.




CHAPTER XIV

 Festivals--A cruel christening--Marriage-making--The fiancé a
     bore--The bride’s moral references--Anonymous letters--The bridal
     dress--The marriage ceremony--A floral departure--Hired jewellery
     as wedding presents--Child brides--Tempted to the altar with a
     doll!


Festivals are numerous, and are conducted on a very lavish scale.
Baptisms, marriages, and “names-days” are usually made the occasion of
great feasting. Birthdays are not celebrated, but “names-days” are;
that is, one keeps high holiday on the saint’s day after whom one is
named, as St Marie, St Anna, St John, etc.

A Roumanian baptism is a very curious ceremony. Many guests are
invited, but the father and mother of the child are never allowed to be
present. After prayers have been recited by the priest, a large font,
almost full of luke-warm water, is brought in. Into this the child is
plunged three times, the mouth, nose, and eyes being kept closely shut
by the fingers of the priest. The poor little mite comes up gasping,
and when it has regained its breath after the third dip, there is
generally an outburst of crying. More prayers are then intoned, and the
priest proceeds to touch the forehead, lips, hands, and feet of the
child with holy oil, so that it may think no evil, speak no evil, do no
evil, nor go where evil is done. The priest interrupts this ceremony
several times, in order to spit once before him, once behind, and then
at each side. This is to keep off the devil with all his evil ways. I
was present at a baptism once, but never again. I thought it terribly
cruel for the poor little mite, and no longer wondered that the absence
of the parents should be insisted on.

Marriages are generally arranged through the mediation of a third
person. Mme. A., for example, has a son whom she would like to see
settled in a home of his own with a wife who can furnish the house,
pay off his debts, and generally make him comfortable. She looks round
her circle of acquaintances, makes inquiries further afield, and when
she hears of a suitable match, begs one of her friends to act as
intermediary.

If the negotiations go on smoothly, and the “dot” (the principal point)
is considered satisfactory, the engagement is celebrated immediately.
Invitations are issued, bon-bons, champagne, etc., ordered from Capsa,
the “lautari” (Roumanian musicians) are engaged, and when the happy
occasion arrives, dancing is kept up till a very late hour. In the
course of the evening dancing stops for a short time, everyone crowds
into the largest drawing-room, where the engaged couple are found
standing side by side. The oldest friend of the family makes a short
speech, wishing all happiness and prosperity to the young people, who
then exchange rings. These rings are worn till the wedding-day, when
they are once more exchanged and the bride comes into her own.

After the engagement, the bridegroom comes to dinner every evening to
make the acquaintance of the bride, as probably he has never set eyes
on her before. The engagement rarely lasts longer than two or three
weeks, for, as a prospective mother-in-law once remarked to me, “long
engagements are impossible in our country. It is tedious enough for us
having this man come to dinner every evening for a week or two.”

When the approaching marriage of a young couple is announced, the
authorities send round forms to three householders in the neighbourhood
of the bride’s residence which they are requested to fill up and
return. The questions are relative to the moral character of the
bride. When I first heard of this extraordinary procedure, I did not
believe the truth of the story, but later on I was shown one of these
amazing documents. Another very unpleasant feature of engagements is
the constant reception by both bride and groom of anonymous letters
containing all sorts of allegations and suggestions concerning the
character of the prospective partner. These letters continue to arrive
till the day on which the wedding takes place.

A Roumanian bride’s dress does not differ very much from that of her
western sister, with the exception of the veil. Instead of a veil, as
we understand it, a quantity of gold thread is worn, falling from the
head to the edge of the dress. It has a very beautiful effect. In very
grand weddings this thread is of real gold and costs a great deal of
money. In weddings of a simple character, the thread is not gold, and
is usually hired for the occasion.

The civil ceremony required by law takes place one day, the religious
marriage on the day following. The latter usually takes place in the
evening, and the gay toilets of the guests, the gala-robes of the
priests, and the innumerable wax candles which light up the scene,
make a striking and beautiful picture. The bridesmaids assemble in
the church to await the bride, who is then immediately led up to the
“ikons,” _i.e._ holy pictures, in order to kiss them. She then takes
her stand together with the bridegroom and his near relatives at a
small table, and the service begins.

Light metal crowns are placed on the heads of the bride and groom
(it is rather ludicrous in the case of the latter, especially if he
happens to be bald), and the intoning of the prayers continues, to the
accompaniment of a shower of flowers which descend from the galleries
on all the participants in the ceremony.

The rings are next exchanged, and afterwards the “holy dance” takes
place. Bride and groom, near relatives, and priests, all join hands and
solemnly make a circuit of the table three times. It is rather a risky
proceeding for the bridegroom, as his crown is so liable to fall off.
The bride is safe, as hers is fastened with hairpins.

A procession of carriages is formed for the homeward journey. These
carriages are generally decorated with flowers, and large lighted
candles are carried by the footman on the box.

In olden times the girls in Roumania were sought in marriage at a very
early age. It was not considered at all extraordinary for girls of
fifteen or even younger to get married.

A young Roumanian lady told me that her own grandmother was only
thirteen years of age when she married. The proposal of marriage was
laid before her, and she, being only a child, thought how fine it
would be to have nice new dresses and be able to buy anything she
fancied, therefore she readily agreed.

When the wedding-day arrived, however, the child was not in the same
mood, and nothing would induce her to go to church. Persuasion,
promises, threats, all were unavailing. The bridegroom elect and
the relatives were at their wits’ end; everything was prepared, the
visitors assembled, the priests already waiting at the church to
perform the ceremony. What was to be done? Suddenly the bridegroom
elect had an inspiration. Throwing himself into the waiting carriage,
he dashed off at full speed, returning in a short time with the most
beautiful doll that could be bought in Bucarest. The joy of the child
was unbounded, and when the doll was placed in her arms she readily
consented to go to church and get married. In spite of her fit of
objection on the day of her nuptials, she was, I have been assured,
very happy in her married life. To the day of her death, however, she
never called her husband anything but “Domnele,” _i.e._ Master. He was
considerably older than she, hence, I suppose, her great respect for
him.




CHAPTER XV

 Pretty Roumanian women--Adventitious aids to beauty--Paris
     toilets--Childish extravagances--Men with London tailors--A dandy
     in blue boots--Some quaint superstitions--Warding off the evil
     eye--The efficacy of hot coals and a cup of water--The Marțisoara,
     or March token--A wife’s indiscretion punished: a story of poetic
     justice--The Marțisoara as a temperamental barometer.


Roumanian ladies are on the whole pretty, and some are _very_ pretty.
They have always good hair and teeth and small feet. Their figures are
very good, and if one _should_ happen to have a bad one, it is easily
set right by the _corsetière_. The only thing that is not quite up to
the mark is the complexion, and this is the reason why there is such
a brisk demand for powder and paint. Dyeing the hair is also greatly
in vogue, even with young people, and it is very amusing to note the
change in a person’s appearance when such dyes have first been used.

I knew two sisters, daughters of Princess ---- (who always insisted
upon her title) who were very pretty girls with dark brown hair.
Evidently they were discontented with it, as on meeting them one day
I noticed, to my utter amazement, that their hair was golden. I was
so taken aback that I could not at once congratulate them on their
appearance, although they evidently expected me to do so. On seeing my
confusion they were at great pains to explain that their hair was _not_
dyed; they had only used oxygen on it. As the result was the same,
however, it did not seem to me to matter what they called the process.

Roumanians know how to dress, the ladies especially, and as every
article of the toilet comes from Paris, their taste is sure to be
guided aright. They do not mind what they spend on dress, the simplest
walking costume in pre-war times costing £8, 10s., simple hats anything
from £4 upwards, so one may imagine how much may be spent on more
elaborate toilets. These prices are not by any means confined to the
wealthiest classes of society--even moderately well-to-do people will
spend enormous sums on clothes. They seemed to me like overgrown
children in many cases; as long as they had money to spend, it had to
be spent.

I particularly remember a case in point. A young man of Bucarest
inherited a considerable sum of money. At once he invested in a smart
carriage and a really fine pair of horses. He was seen driving in great
style to the Chaussée every afternoon, and I was told that it was a
sight to see his dressing room hung round with suits of clothes of
every prevailing fashion, and under each suit a pair of boots or shoes
ready to hand.

This joyous life went on for a time, till the money began to get scarce
(as it has an awkward habit of doing), and the young man had to sell
his carriage and fine horses. He was then seen taking his daily airing
in a _birja_, _i.e._ hired carriage (no Roumanian walks unless he is
absolutely obliged), and after some months of that he was reduced to
riding in the tram! His fall was gradual, but the lowest depth was
reached at last.

The men of Roumania are not good-looking as a rule. They are generally
short in stature with very dark complexions and conspicuously
moustached. Moustaches used to be worn with turned-up ends in imitation
of the Kaiser, but as he is no longer looked on with any favour this
fashion has been abandoned. The men who are rich enough to do so, order
their clothes in London, or in Paris. As a rule only those who really
cannot afford to do otherwise get their clothes in their own country.

The boots that one buys in Roumania are usually of a very light make,
both for winter and summer. Ladies wear black, brown, or grey, but
I have never seen them with other colours, as I have seen men. My
astonishment was great one day when I met a man wearing a pair of light
blue boots. One never requires strong boots in Roumania, as in winter
snow-boots are worn over the others, and removed on entering the house.
Boots were always expensive in Bucarest, a decent pair costing from 25
francs (£1) upwards; but really smart people paid 75 and 80 francs a
pair.

Ladies practically always have their corsets, boots, and gloves made
for them. It is very seldom indeed that they buy any of those articles
ready made.

We must always remember, in considering the Roumanian people, that
their civilisation is far more suggestive of the East than of the West.
In our eyes some of their customs are very peculiar, to say the least
of it. Even the upper classes are extremely superstitious.

No one ever dreams of starting on a journey or commencing any
particular work on a Tuesday. It is considered a very unlucky day.

Dreams are gravely related and certain conclusions are drawn from them,
based, of course, on past experience, either of the raconteur or of
some friend.

Little children wear coloured ribbons in order to keep off the “evil
eye.” A boy wears red and a little girl blue. It is rather a convenient
custom, as one knows at once the sex of the child, and is not under the
necessity of alluding to an infant as “it.”

On no account must one admire or praise a child in the hearing of its
parents. Such a proceeding is looked upon as directly challenging the
operations of the “evil eye.” I shall never forget an incident which
occurred some years ago. I had called upon Madame ----, and we were
quietly drinking tea together in the English manner, a compliment to
me, when her husband rushed in with their little boy, in a state of the
greatest excitement. He explained that they had been walking on the
Calea Victorie when they met a mutual friend of ours, an Englishman,
who had not been long in Bucarest. This gentleman had unluckily
expressed his admiration of the handsome boy; hence the trouble. M.
---- rang the bell violently and gave an order to the servant, who
without delay brought in a cup of cold water on a tray, whilst she
carried in the other hand a small shovel containing three live coals
from the kitchen fire. With great anxiety and solicitude, the perturbed
father dropped the three pieces of charcoal into the cup. They sizzled
a little and--floated. Had they sunk the direst misfortunes would
have been presaged. A teaspoonful of the water was then given to the
child, his forehead, the palms of his hands, and the soles of his feet
were moistened with it, and three paternosters having been said, all
was well. The relieved father turned to me with many apologies for his
excited entrance, “But you know,” he explained, “the matter was of the
very greatest importance, and he is our only child.”

It is the universal feminine custom in Roumania to wear a “Marțisoara”
during the month of March. This is an ornament primarily intended for
young girls, and all kinds of them are worn, from simple ones of glass
or painted wood to costly trinkets of silver or gold ornamented with
precious stones. They are therefore of all prices. But whatever the
cost may be, the practice of tying each one with fancy cord, coloured
red and white, is universal, these two colours being symbolical of
the ideal complexion of a young girl. The ornaments are usually worn
tied round the wrist, with the red and white tassels bobbing about
with every movement. At the end of March the Marțisoara is taken off,
the ornament carefully preserved, and the cords hung out on a bush in
order that the dew of heaven may besprinkle them. The idea is that the
Marțisoara will be efficacious in giving the wearer cheeks of the much
coveted colouring.

The custom of presenting Marțisoara in the month of March is so
universal, that not only do the youthful members of the male community
take advantage of it in presenting to an admired fair one a gift that
at any other time might be deemed an impertinence, but also older men
frequently make use of the occasion to give presents in quarters where
they have no right to bestow them. An amusing instance of the latter
kind of indiscretion occurred in Bucarest some years ago, and became
very literally the talk of the town.

Madame M., a well-known society beauty, had a husband who was neither
rich nor generous. A Marțisoara displayed in the window of Resch the
jeweller attracted her attention and she ardently desired to possess
it. It was a beautifully fashioned trinket of gold, studded with lovely
sapphires. Madame M. pointed it out to her husband, who, however,
absolutely refused to even inquire the price, as it was sure to be
very great. Now the lady had a _bon ami_, a very wealthy man, and when
he heard of the difficulty he begged her to accept the Marțisoara as
a gift from him. She declared that this would be impossible, as her
husband’s suspicions would at once be aroused. The pair, however, had a
little talk over the matter and hit upon a very ingenious plan.

M. Bon Ami called upon Resch and made a certain arrangement with him.
The price of the ornament was 2000 francs, so he paid half of that sum
to Resch on the understanding that if M. M. called to inquire about it
he should let him have it for 1000 francs. Armed with this knowledge,
Madame M. returned to the charge, and at length induced her husband to
promise that if the Marțisoara could be obtained for 1200 francs he
would buy it. The good man was a fair judge of precious stones, and
thought it was safe to make the offer, as it would never be considered.
The negotiation must have been an interesting one. It was said that
Resch acted very discreetly, and after naming a price which was
calculated not to arouse suspicion, he suffered himself to be beaten
down to 1000 francs.

There was no more triumphant man in Bucarest that March afternoon
than M. M. On his way home to delight his wife he could not refrain
from dropping in at the Club to brag about his cleverness. He had
half a dozen men for an audience, and they were not a bit bored, for
this was a genuine and surprising bargain. All admired the Marțisoara
tremendously. Several very much wanted to obtain possession of it, and
it was here that the complications started. M. M. at first kept his
wife, and the great pleasure he was in a position to afford her, before
his mind, but when one of the party offered him 500 francs in advance
of the purchase money, his cupidity was aroused and the Marțisoara
changed hands.

M. M., however, proceeded homeward without misgivings. His wife was a
sensible woman, and a clear gain of 500 francs would surely console
her for any little disappointment about the trinket. He told his
wonderful story with glee, and madame promptly went into hysterics.
The poor husband could only ring the bell, and, whilst restoratives
were being applied, reflect helplessly that there is no possibility of
understanding the ways of woman.

If anyone feels curious as to how the story gained publicity, I can
only say that my long residence in the country taught me, among other
things, that there are no secrets in Bucarest.

There is another custom connected with the first nine days in the month
of March. Every young girl chooses one of these days as her special
day, and whatever the weather may be on that day, it is supposed
to show her character--rainy weather shows that she is inclined to
weep very readily; dull weather, that she looks at the gloomy side;
alternate sunshine and rain, that she is changeable, and so forth.
These nine days are called “Alte Baba” (old women), while the nine
following are reserved for the men-folk under the same conditions. It
used to be quite exciting to watch the weather conditions on special
days, and very amusing when they tallied (as was often the case) with
the character of a person who had chosen them.




CHAPTER XVI

 English nurses introduce the bath-tub--Matutinal ablutions
     in a country house--Abstinence from ablutions a proof of
     holiness--The funeral of a Metropolitan: dead prelate in the
     procession--Afternoon tea’s equivalent in a tomb.


It is a very pretty sight to see a Roumanian baby of the élite start
for his daily airing. He is of course most beautifully dressed,
although the little face often looks very pinched and yellow in
the midst of all the finery. The nurse who wheels the perambulator
is usually in costume, consisting of a long cloak with a hood, a
head-dress made entirely of ribbon, with long streamers a quarter of a
yard in width hanging down behind. If her charge be a boy, the nurse
wears red; if a girl, blue.

It is very rare indeed for a Roumanian lady to nurse her own child. A
wet nurse is always engaged, who has the entire charge of the little
one till it is weaned. It caused quite a sensation when the present
Queen of Roumania proposed to nurse one of her children.

Children are not often troubled with baths; the washing of the hands
and face and an occasional rubbing with vinegar over the whole body
being considered quite sufficient.

Of late years, many families have engaged English nurses, and although
at first the innovation of open windows and plenty of cold water was
regarded with fear and trembling, people now seem to be growing
accustomed to it.

Washing was never greatly in favour, even with grown-ups, and there are
difficulties in the way of a successful toilet, especially when one
pays a visit to the country.

On entering the bedroom, you wonder where you can perform your
ablutions, as no washing stand is to be seen, but next morning the
mystery is solved. About eight o’clock a knock is heard at the door,
and a maid enters with a wash-basin and a small jug of water. The basin
being placed on a chair, you are instructed to hold out your hands,
into which the maid gravely pours some water. If you are clever enough
to catch some of it, you give a kind of wash to your face, then you
hold out your hands for a fresh supply for the hands themselves. This
done, the maid gathers up her appliances, takes her leave, and you hear
her knocking at the next door to repeat the performance.

I was paying a visit to the country some years ago, and my hostess
announced one morning, with every indication of grief, that the Bishop
had just died. “Oh, he was such a holy man,” she said; and she so
insisted on his holiness, that at length I was driven to inquire what
proofs she had of it. “Oh,” she replied, “we _know_ he was a holy man;
just fancy, he never washed since he was appointed Bishop ten years
ago!”

Immunity from washing is not the only advantage over ordinary mortals
which the higher clergy possess. The Metropolitan, for example, is
never buried. His body after death is placed on a sort of throne and
lowered into the crypt of the monastery. After some months have
passed, the dead prelate, throne and all, is built into a wall.

I have a vivid recollection of the funeral of an Archbishop which I
attended. Indeed, I cannot conceive of anybody ever forgetting such an
experience. The ceremony was of a most imposing character. Enormous
crowds gathered to witness the passing of the procession through
the streets. A detachment of cavalry headed the procession, and was
followed by infantry accompanied by a band. Next came the bier. This
was a sort of platform drawn by six horses. The platform was completely
covered with flowers, and in the centre, arrayed in ceremonial robes
and mitre, sat the dead Metropolitan. The body was supported on each
side by an attendant, but in spite of their care the dead head with its
ghastly face waggled horribly. I felt terrified lest the body should
topple over altogether.

Behind the bier came officials of the Court, ministers, deputies, etc.
Then more soldiers and police. But for me the procession contained only
one figure, and that was the dead man sitting in his chair.

Until a quite recent date, it was the custom to carry open coffins,
with the face of the dead exposed, in funeral processions.

As a rule, when a person is at the point of death, a candle is placed
in each hand, in order, it is said, to light the spirit into the next
world.

A terrible accident was once caused by this practice. A widow lady
living in the Calea Victoire was lying dangerously ill; the doctors had
given her up. The servants by whom she was attended, thinking her last
hour had come, placed, as was the custom, a candle in each hand, and
then left the house (the sick are generally left to die alone, even by
their nearest and dearest, Roumanians having such a dread of witnessing
death). The candles unhappily fell from the poor nerveless hands and
set fire to the bed-clothes, the flames rapidly spreading, as no check
was placed upon them, till, when help from outside finally arrived, the
whole room and all its contents were entirely consumed. It was dreadful
for me to view even the outside of the ruined house and to think what
scenes may have occurred within. For long after I was haunted by the
idea that the poor lady might have recovered if she had been well
attended and not left alone as she was.

The regulations with regard to deaths which may call for an inquiry
offer an extraordinary example of red tape. Should a person fall dead
in the street, the body may on no account be touched until full reports
have been made to a variety of functionaries and a great number of
forms have been signed. The tedious proceedings may occupy the whole
day. I have seen more than once a corpse lying for many hours in
the middle of a busy thoroughfare, necessitating a diversion of the
traffic. On one occasion the relatives had placed candles round the
body. It was a strange street spectacle.

This is not a cheerful subject, but before leaving it I must refer to
some curious tombs in the cemetery just outside Bucarest.

The most interesting is that of a young girl who died some years ago.
Her body has never been buried in the strict sense of the term, but
remains in a large vault which is always open. This vault, to which one
descends by six or seven marble steps, is furnished as a reception
room. The girl had some reputation as a poetess, and her favourite
books are placed upon shelves on the wall. Amongst other things in the
room, or vault, is a large globe which she used in her geographical
studies. The hands of the clock on the wall point to the hour at which
she died. Behind a curtain the coffin rests upon a marble stand. A lamp
placed before it is always alight. The bereaved father spends hours at
a time in the vault. He declares that he has constant communication
with his daughter’s spirit.

On the anniversary of her “names-day,” relatives and friends are bidden
to the vault, where they are entertained with black coffee and dulceata.

Another curious monument is the lifesize effigy of a lady whose body
lies beneath. The figure stands on a flat tombstone and holds a fan
in its hands. A fan does seem an incongruity in a graveyard. Attached
to nearly every tombstone is the photograph of the person who rests
beneath.




CHAPTER XVII

 The servant question not so acute as in England--Establishments of
     thirty servants--Five or six for professional people--Terms and
     duties of service--An unwilling bather--A highly recommended
     maid who waited at table barefooted--The reference books of
     servants--The servants’ quarters--A strange privilege: female
     servants may have their husbands or putative husbands and
     their families to live with them--Costly marriage fees are
     prohibitive--“Madam” and “Madame”--Linguistic pitfalls: a “master”
     or a “cake”?--When a bald-headed cook is wanted--Leaving cards on
     names-days--An omnibus round.


The servant question is not nearly so acute in Roumania as it is in
England. Servants, of a kind, are always to be had, though really good
ones are rare. It is generally acknowledged that Hungarians are much
better workers than Roumanians, but in late years the Hungarian nation
became jealous of the constant migration to the adjoining country
(where better wages obtained) and absolutely forbade it.

Probably owing to the fact that the abolition of slavery only dates
back some seventy years or thereabouts, Roumanian families require the
services of a great number of servants. Prince G., for instance, had
thirty servants in his establishment, although his house was of a very
moderate size, not by any means what one would describe as “princely.”
People lower down in the social scale, such as doctors, engineers,
lawyers, etc., generally have establishments of five or six servants.
The conditions of service are not at all similar to those prevailing
in England. A maid is engaged at a fixed wage of from thirty francs
monthly upwards, and her dinner. In addition she receives thirty _bani_
(3d.) a day, which is called bread-money, and with this she is supposed
to provide herself with bread, tea or coffee, sugar, and anything she
may require for extra meals. Any scraps or broken bread left over from
the table the servants are at liberty to take. As there are generally
a number of them clubbing their resources, they can feed themselves
very well indeed on these terms. The servants are required to rise very
early, at five o’clock generally, and to sweep and dust thoroughly all
the rooms that have been occupied the day before. As the floors are of
parquetry in most houses, and the carpets laid loosely over them, the
work is not so very difficult. Nearly every family has a “randasch,” a
man-servant who does the heavy work, beating carpets, cleaning windows,
and such like. Sometimes the randasch waits at table, but more often it
is a parlour-maid. It depends on the capabilities of the man, whether
he is intelligent or not.

I once visited at a house and noticed that the randasch was a newcomer.
Having remarked upon it, I was informed that he had only come for a
short time, as in some weeks he was to become a “popa,” _i.e._ priest!

A few minutes before lunch or dinner is served a maid enters the salon
bearing a tray on which are several small glasses of _țuica_ and a
plate with tiny bits of bread, which she presents in turn to each
visitor. _Țuica_ (pronounced _zweeka_) is a liqueur made from plums,
and is supposed to act as a stimulant to the appetite. After dinner,
when the guests return to the salon, the maid appears once more with
small cups of Turkish coffee. This coffee is delicious, and is made
exactly as one gets it in the bazaars in Constantinople.

Servants dress much better of late years; in some houses you may even
meet maids with caps and aprons, but it is by no means general. When
I first went to Roumania I was amazed to see the door of a quite
imposing mansion opened by a creature of rather dirty appearance with
a shawl over her head. Some ladies are lax and do not insist on either
cleanliness or tidiness in their maids.

A Swiss lady of my acquaintance in Bucarest had great trouble once
with a Roumanian maid whom she had engaged. The rule of this house
was that each maid was to take a bath every week, but the difficulty
was to enforce the rule in the case of this particular girl. She got
out of it when she could, and when brought to book almost cried and
said she had never been asked to do such a thing in any other house.
Finally the mistress insisted upon the maid entering the bathroom, she
herself remaining outside the door until the necessary but much dreaded
ablutions had been performed.

I remember once a new maid being engaged at a house where I was
staying. She said she had been some time with Mme. B. and Mme. N.,
well-known ladies in Bucarest society, and so it was taken for granted
that if she had been in such good houses she would prove a first-class
servant. But what was our astonishment, the first time she came to wait
at table, to see her enter the dining-room with bare feet! At first
we looked at each other in amazement, then the comical side of the
situation struck us, and we laughed and laughed till we cried. We did
enjoy our dinner that night, but we were not waited on by Mme. B.’s
late maid-servant.

Servants are not required to have written references, but they are
furnished by the police authorities with small books in which all
particulars regarding themselves are recorded, and they are required to
produce these on taking service anew. These records are always a hold
upon them. Should they have a fancy to go off without permission or to
take with them any property not lawfully theirs, they can easily be
traced by means of these small books, duplicates of which remain in the
possession of the police.

In very many houses the servants’ quarters are quite apart from the
house. Sometimes a small house in the courtyard is provided for them;
but even if they do live in the same house as the family, they occupy
rooms which can be cut off from the rest of the dwelling by merely
locking the door of communication. This indeed is very often done at
night.

Roumanian mistresses never have the trouble of providing beds for their
servants, as everyone arrives with her own. Bedsteads are provided, but
nothing else. Bed and bedding form, of course, an indispensable part
of the equipment of female servants, and some of them take pride in
having a good show of pillows with the pillow-cases richly ornamented
with crochet work. But with men-servants it is very different indeed;
it very often happens that they have no beds at all! I heard once
of a young fellow being brought fresh from the country to act as
“randasch.” On the mistress being questioned by one of her friends as
to where he would sleep, she replied, “Oh, anywhere at all; he does not
need a bed.” Further investigation showed that he simply lay down on
his own little trunk, and slept there quite well too.

Servants are permitted to have their husbands with them. They may
be husbands only in name, and indeed very often are, but still no
objection is made about giving them house-room. If the man has any
occupation, he is away all day, only coming back at night, when his
wife will have a meal ready for him, which is supposed to be provided
by herself. Very often, therefore, there is quite a small colony
housed together in the servants’ quarters, each one with her small
family round her. It is very probable that this custom dates back to
the time when serfdom was still in vogue in the country. I believe
that when serfdom was finally abolished the step did not please many
of the serfs themselves. They and their families had lived on the
estates of their masters, fed, clothed, and housed, not badly treated
and not overworked; and when they received their freedom (the want
of which they had never felt) and were obliged in many cases to look
out for work in order to keep wife and family, they found their new
responsibilities very strange and did not relish them at all. Their
sole disability as serfs, and one which I think we may imagine did not
trouble them much, was that they were debarred from having their hair
cut!

I have said that very often the marriage ceremony is dispensed with by
the servant class, but this is not so much their fault as that of the
authorities. Marriage fees are very high in Roumania; not only those
given to priests, but also the fees required by the civil authorities.
A man, let us say, from the country wishes to marry in town. He must
write to his own village and get the certificate of his birth as well
as the written consent of his parents, or, failing these, the consent
of his grandparents. Even if a man is fifty years of age he is obliged
to ask the consent of his parents if he has any. Should the parents not
agree to the match, then he makes three “sommations.” That is, he is
required by law to send three notices with a certain interval of time
between them to his parents, informing them, first, of his intended
marriage, and then of his intention to persist in the determination.
After the third notice has been sent he is free to marry.

When the different certificates and written consent have finally been
procured, they must be deposited at the town hall and stamped. The
stamping and fees amount to a considerable sum, so one cannot wonder
that a poor couple should prefer to keep the few francs they possess
and dispense with the marriage tie.

A German maid in a house where I was staying once told me a pitiful
tale. She had come to Roumania as a quite young girl. After some time
she made the acquaintance of a Roumanian, with whom she fell in love.
As he was not in a very good position they dispensed with the marriage
ceremony and lived together as man and wife. A young family grew up
around them, and their circumstances caused the utmost grief to the
girl’s poor old mother in Germany, who felt keenly her daughter’s
disgrace. From her poor resources she contrived to send 200 marks to
enable the couple to get married. Alas! the sum was soon swallowed up
in the cost of stamping, translating, etc., of various necessary or
unnecessary papers, and the object remained unachieved. To the great
grief of the poor old mother in her far-off village home, the situation
of her daughter remained as it was, with no hope of any change, for
whatever money the couple could hope to make would have to be used for
the needs of their young family.

Good cooks are pretty well paid, receiving 50, 60, up to 100 francs
monthly, but they have also a fair amount of work to do. Sugar in
Roumania is bought by the loaf, and amongst her multitudinous duties
the cook must see that it is cut into small pieces. She must roast and
grind the coffee daily. Above all, she must go in good time to market
(some go before 5 a.m.), otherwise the best of the country produce will
have gone.

Servants are very respectful to each other, never using each other’s
name without prefacing it with “Madam.” “Madam Anna has gone to
market.” “Madam Marie is busy washing just now.” It is very curious
that this title of “Madam,” as distinct from “Madame,” is almost
entirely confined to the servant class. “Cocanitza” or “Cocoiana,” the
Roumanian term for “mistress,” is only given to the lady of the house.
The words “Coconash” (master) and “Cozonac” (a kind of cake), as it
happens, resemble each other in the pronunciation. A friend of mine,
an English lady, sent from time to time for this cake, as she liked
it for tea, but could not understand why the servant seemed always
so amused, till at last she found out that she had ordered her to
fetch a _Master_ instead of a _cake_. Funny mistakes do occur when one
does not know the language well, as was the case with another lady.
She had a person to work by the day, who, on leaving, invariably said
“Serat mana.” The English lady thought this meant “Good evening,” and
very politely repeated it after her. But she was obliged to find a
substitute for her response when she learned that the words meant “I
kiss your hand.”

I think I must find space for an example of what I understand has come
to be known here as a “howler.” It is really too good to be overlooked.
I once gave a pupil a portion of the fourteenth chapter of St Mark to
turn from French into English. In her translation I found this gem:
“The ghost is agreeable, but the meat is feeble.”

A cake that is very popular in Roumania is one made of alternate
layers of dough and a mixture of apples, currants, and sugar. It must
be made in a very cool place, and one requires a large table for the
task. When the dough is ready, it is rolled out very thin, then placed
on the table and drawn out over it at every side till it is scarcely
thicker than paper. The mixture of apples, currants, raisins, sugar,
and spice stands ready, and a portion is spread over the paste, which
is then doubled over and another layer of the mixture spread upon
it. The process is repeated till the paste has assumed the form of a
great sausage nearly a yard in length. It is then bent in the shape
of a horse-shoe, put into the oven and baked. When it is cooked, no
better cake could be desired. When I first became acquainted with this
delicacy, I was rather curious as to how it was made. I was informed
that the cake could only be made by a bald-headed cook, as he was
obliged to put the paste on his head and draw it down and outwards in
all directions in order to attain the requisite degree of thinness.
Being at that time ripe for shocks, I suffered some qualms, but later
realised that my Roumanian friends were not without a certain sense of
humour.

One of the duties of a servant is to stand at the outer gate on his
master’s names-day, and receive the visitors’ cards. It is very seldom
that one receives on such occasions, and this is so well known that
anyone can be sent just to drop a card at the house designated.

Cards of congratulation are sent in such numbers at New Year’s Day,
for instance, that it is often quite impossible to post a letter, the
pillar-boxes are so packed. It did not astonish me very much to hear
that one poor postman quite lost patience, and threw all the letters
into the river instead of delivering them. On such great fête-days it
is almost impossible to get a decent carriage; every one is engaged
hours, perhaps days, before it is needed. Everybody makes holiday,
and when cards have been left where they are due, then a turn at the
Chaussée is indulged in, or there may be a marriage at which one must
appear.

I remember a gentleman from the country coming to Bucarest on such
a great holiday. As he was seldom in town he wished to take the
opportunity of paying a few visits. Not a carriage was to be had, so at
last in despair he hired an omnibus to take him round. Now, the humour
of the situation would not be so apparent to an English person. The
Bucarest omnibus is not at all “chic.” It is permissible to travel by
the tram, but the omnibus is quite _infra dig._; and so the spectacle
of this gentleman, in kid gloves and tall hat, rattling up to the doors
of various stately dwellings in the bumping vehicle was comical in the
extreme, and caused much merriment.




CHAPTER XVIII

 Convict life in the salt--mines--A Roumanian Jack Sheppard--The trick
     that laid him low--Procedure in murder cases--The reconstruction
     of the crime--Scant justice for servants: no Habeas Corpus Act
     in Roumania--A man whose face was the only evidence against
     him--Gipsies and the building trade: the men act as masons and
     bricklayers, the women as their labourers--Exhibition of new
     clothes when a roof is put on--Fiddling ragamuffins--Gipsies as
     musicians--Guarding against gipsies in the Carpathians.


Prison accommodation in Roumania is considerably better now than it
used to be. The cells are light and airy, and the prison fare is not
worse than in other countries. Capital punishment is not inflicted.
If a person be convicted of a capital crime, his sentence will be
imprisonment in the salt-mines for life or for a long term of years.
These salt-mines are situated at Ocna Mare, and it is quite an
interesting experience to pay a visit to them. Before descending into
the depths, visitors are required to don a large loose overall to
protect their clothes. The descent in the cage is soon over, and one
finds oneself in a large hall hewn out of the solid salt, which, when
lighted up, flashes out brilliant colours innumerable. The prisoners
make the descent every morning, and stay below for a certain number
of hours for work, after which they are re-conducted to their prison
home. They are allowed to manufacture small articles of salt, wood,
etc., and stalls are arranged in the courtyard of the prison on which
these articles are exposed for sale, the prisoners themselves acting as
salesmen.

For a nervous person it is not at all reassuring to find oneself
suddenly in the midst of such surroundings. Some of the prisoners
have a very dogged, obstinate expression; and when one remarks among
the articles for sale numbers of large, strongly made knives, one
involuntarily begins to wonder what would happen if the prisoners
should each seize a knife and make a sudden dash for freedom. Should
_we_ be attacked, or should we not? Evidently such a supposition has
occurred to no one else; or is it that such precautions have been taken
that a rising on the part of the prisoners is out of the question?

Occasionally, however, a prisoner does effect his escape. Some years
ago a noted robber who was undergoing a long term of punishment
succeeded in getting out of prison. He was rearrested, and again this
modern Jack Sheppard got the better of his captors, commencing a fresh
villainous career, and it may be remarked that he did not stop at
robberies by any means. The prison authorities became quite wearied
out with this man, so devised a plan to get rid of him entirely. The
last place at which he was arrested was Galatz, where there is a fairly
large garden. On a certain day and at a certain hour the public were
absolutely forbidden to enter this garden, a sentry being stationed at
each gate to see that the order was obeyed. The prisoner was then taken
under strong escort to be transferred to another place of detention,
and the way led through the garden. The guards were chatting and
laughing together, so the prisoner thought it a favourable moment to
elude them. He was a very agile man, and started off full speed, but
had not got very far when three shots rang out and he was laid low, his
inglorious career ended for ever. It seemed rather a mean trick; but as
the death penalty is never inflicted, no other means of getting rid of
him could be devised.

What always appeared very strange to me was the procedure in a
murder case, but I believe it is similar to that adopted in France.
If a person be arrested on a charge of murder, he undergoes a first
examination, and is then taken to the scene of the murder. Everything
is arranged as it is supposed to have been when the murder was
committed. Even the body of the victim is present. It is presumed
that revisiting the scene and recalling the terrible occurrence may
betray the accused man into some expression of feeling or even into a
confession of guilt. The whole idea is gruesome, and it seems to me to
take an unfair advantage of the prisoner.

Principles of justice and fairplay are not quite so developed in the
East as in the West. For instance, a servant who is accused of theft
by his master or mistress gets a good thrashing first of all at the
police-court in order to induce him to confess his guilt, and also to
divulge where he has hidden the stolen property. It is against all law
to act in such a way, but the servant does not dare complain.

It is not at all a difficult matter for a person who occupies a high
position in the capital to have another of lesser degree, such as
a servant or a workman, imprisoned. A word to the police, and the
victim will be arrested and kept perhaps for days without a charge
being brought against him. But a complaint is never brought forward for
false imprisonment, nor would such a complaint be considered. A lady of
my acquaintance once engaged a man-servant of rather unprepossessing
appearance. One night after retiring to rest she was awakened by
suspicious noises in the house. She immediately conceived the idea
that this man of evil looks was bent on actions to correspond. As she
always kept a policeman’s rattle near at hand, she at once rushed to
the window and sounded it. In a few minutes two policemen arrived, and
a house search was instituted. Nowhere could the man-servant be found,
till finally the kitchen was reached, where he was discovered lying
across the table fast asleep, or pretending to sleep, with a huge knife
beside him. This looked so suspicious that he was immediately arrested
and taken to the police-court. The lady was asked if she could accuse
him of any wrong-doing, but as she really had nothing definite to
formulate, only suspicions to go upon, no charge could be made against
him. He was, however, detained for three or four days before being set
at liberty.

In Roumania gipsies form an interesting section of the community; they
are always employed where building is going on. The men are engaged
as stone-masons and bricklayers, and execute the more skilled work,
whilst the women act as labourers and mount the scaffolding with loads
on their backs. At first it was never thought necessary to provide any
kind of dwelling for these gipsies when engaged on a job--they just lay
about anywhere in the open; but finally it became quite a scandal and
a source of danger to the community, so action had to be taken. A law
was passed that anyone employing gipsies must provide them with proper
accommodation, and that sanitary considerations must be respected.

When the building on which gipsies are employed arrives at a certain
stage, sometimes before the roof is put on, high holiday is kept. The
scaffolding is decorated with green boughs, among which one may see new
skirts, coats, and blouses fluttering in the breeze. These are given by
the employer, and are on view for the rest of the day. I think it is
the only time they _are_ on view, as I have never yet seen a gipsy with
new clothes on. They would seem quite out of place. Rags and gipsies
seem somehow to belong to each other. When no building is going on,
gipsies are often to be seen parading the streets with a tame bear
that can be put through any number of tricks. One of the gipsies has
a weird kind of incantation to which the unfortunate bear is supposed
to dance. His unwieldy movements, and muffled growling, as a sort of
running accompaniment to the music, delight the children, who are eager
to reward the bear’s master with all the coppers they possess.

The gipsies do not seem to be a really lazy race. When they are at
work they are quite active, singing or whistling if they have not at
the moment the inevitable cigarette end between their teeth. It is one
of the occupations of the gipsy children to roam about the streets in
search of cigarette-ends that have been thrown away (pipes are seldom
used in Bucarest). These are brought to their parents to be smoked
to the “bitter end.” The women smoke just as much as the men. Another
occupation for bigger children is to get hold of a rude kind of violin
and to play for the public. It is a sight to see one trying to keep up
with a tram, fiddling for all he is worth (no one knows what the tune
is), but keeping a sharp look-out for any _bani_ that may be thrown
to him. He is a comical figure, sometimes wearing neither shoes nor
stockings, but with a long coat reaching half-way down his bare legs.
Sometimes he sports a battered-in hat, but more often than not his own
shaggy curls form his only head covering.

The little children are picturesque, and they would delight the eye
of an artist. They do not trouble about clothes at all. It is true
that the little brown bodies are sometimes clothed in tiny shirts, but
more often than not they are entirely naked. The big black eyes and
the little brown faces crowned by masses of thick brown or black curls
remind one strongly of the types in pictures by Murillo.

All gipsies have a natural talent for music, and where it can be
developed success is almost sure. There is, for instance, a gipsy in
Bucarest who, with his band of musicians, is very much sought after
for entertainments. He can command 200-300 francs for a few hours in
the evening; and as festivities are not often wanting, especially in
winter, he must have amassed quite a nice little fortune. He went with
his band to the Exhibition in Paris some years ago, and aroused great
enthusiasm among the French by his playing. Gipsy music in Roumania has
always a vein of melancholy running through it, quite different from
the Hungarian music, which is fiery and wild in its character, showing
plainly the untamed spirit of the people.

Gipsies as a class have not a good reputation for honesty, therefore if
any are seen near one’s house a sharp look-out must be kept. I stayed
for some weeks one summer at a little village in the Carpathians.
Just about twenty minutes’ walk from our cottage there was a gipsy
encampment. The lady with whom I was staying was rather nervous, and
terribly afraid of the gipsies. The forest, which was very dense, came
right down to the back of our cottage, which was in a rather isolated
situation. Her fear was that the gipsies might hide in the forest and
then attack us at night. Great precautions had to be taken, doors and
windows carefully closed and barred. The dogs, of which there are
always enough and to spare in the country, were brought close up to
the cottage, and with a loaded revolver near at hand we considered we
should be a match for the gipsies. But the truth is they never came to
let us prove it.




CHAPTER XIX

 King Carol as a diplomat--Lichnowsky as a Secretary of Legation--The
     scandal about his chief’s (Prince von Bülow) wife--I see
     something at Bad Hall--A great ladies’ man: he goes too far at
     length and is “promoted” to another sphere--Kiderlein-Wächter,
     genial and popular--An unfortunate dinner-party over which his
     housekeeper presided--Prince Gulochowski and his wife--Some
     British ambassadors: Sir Frank Lascelles and Sir Charles (now
     Lord) Hardinge--How the latter rendered me a great service--Sir
     Henry Drummond Wolff--Sir John Kennedy and Lady Kennedy and
     their family--Better times for the British colony--The British
     colony--Its religious interests--Bishop Collins and his visits to
     Bucarest--His tragic end deeply regretted--Since the war Bucarest
     has many more British visitors--A British Chamber of Commerce, and
     a projected club.


The late King Carol was considered one of the best diplomats in Europe.
Was it because of this the German Embassy had always more secretaries
on their staff than any other embassy? It was the case, at any rate.

Some twenty years ago the present Prince von Bülow was German Minister
at the Court of Roumania. One of the secretaries was the young Prince
Lichnowsky, who ended his career in London as German Ambassador at the
outbreak of war.

Young Lichnowsky was considered to be very clever, in spite of his
abnormally large head (his hats were always specially made for him);
and for a German he was remarkably well groomed, but one did not wonder
at that when one learned that he had all his clothes from Poole’s.

There was a good deal of talk in Bucarest at that time concerning
Lichnowsky’s weakness for Mme. von Bülow, the wife of his chief. As
the lady was considerably older than he, I never gave any credence
to the reports, till some facts came under my own observation. I was
staying for a few weeks at Bad Hall, a small village in Austria, rather
celebrated for the health-giving properties of its springs. At the
principal hotel Mme. von Bülow was staying, and in close attendance
upon her no other than Prince Lichnowsky. He was most attentive,
accompanying her to the Casino, to the springs, and always carrying a
formidable array of wraps, as she was not a very robust woman. After
seeing this, I could no longer disbelieve the stories that had been
current.

Lichnowsky was considered a great ladies’ man in Bucarest, and the most
of his time was spent amongst the fair members of the local society.
His attentions to a certain personage since dead became so marked, that
it was deemed advisable to cut short his adventurous career, and so he
was “promoted,” and the society of Bucarest knew him no more.

Another diplomat was Kiderlein-Wächter, also German Minister during
part of my stay in Bucarest. He was a genial man and very popular, but
it must be confessed that he was anything but abstemious; he did not
even confine himself to beer, as most Germans do.

His household was composed of three or four servants, a valet,
and a lady housekeeper. In regard to the last-named he rather got
into hot water with the Roumanian ladies. He issued invitations
for a dinner-party, and, when the guests arrived and dinner was
announced, the head of the table was taken by the lady housekeeper!
Indignation was general among the Roumanians, as, although they are
not at all strict among their own set, they are very particular as
to what they require from an outsider. The consequence was that Herr
Kiderlein-Wächter could never again show hospitality to the Roumanian
ladies, as in no case would it have been accepted. Poor man! he died a
year or so ago at Stuttgart, very suddenly, I believe.

Prince Gulochowski was also in Bucarest some time before as Austrian
Minister. I remember him as rather short, portly, and wearing bushy
whiskers. His wife was just the contrary. She was thin to attenuation.
Mme. Gulochowski was once present at the Elisabeth Ball, given at the
Royal Theatre every year. It was the Queen’s express desire that every
lady should appear there dressed in Roumanian costume, as she wished to
encourage the national industries.

One would have thought that Mme. Gulochowski would have eagerly seized
upon the chance of covering up her thin shoulders, but not she. In
spite of the well-known wish of the Queen, she appeared in ball
costume, most conspicuous as the only lady present who was not dressed
in national costume.

Of our own diplomats, not a few of our well-known men spent some time
in Roumania.

Sir Frank Lascelles, a relative of the Earl of Harewood, was English
Minister at Bucarest before being appointed to Teheran.

Our late Viceroy in India, Lord Hardinge, spent some time there also as
chargé d’affaires. I always feel grateful to him for helping me out of
a difficult position. I had been in Russia for some months and wished
to return to Roumania, but no Russian préfet would sign my passport
or give me permission to leave the country. Each one insisted that
I must be provided with a new passport, as it was not admissible to
leave the country with the same passport that I had on entering it.
In my extremity I wrote to Bucarest, and the sympathy of Sir Charles
Hardinge, as he then was, was enlisted on my behalf. He did his best
for me, even interviewing M. de Fonton, the Russian Minister, with the
result that a préfet was found who signed my passport.

One may imagine that I did not let the grass grow under my feet once
I had the required permission. It always seemed so strange to me
that permission to leave Russia was just as difficult to obtain as
permission to enter it.

Sir Henry Drummond Wolff was British Minister to Roumania for a short
time, but his stay was so brief that scarcely any members of the
English colony ever saw him.

The most popular by far of the British Ministers was Sir John Kennedy,
who with his family remained for some seven or eight years in Bucarest.
The family consisted of four sons and one daughter. “Pat” Kennedy I
refer to elsewhere as a playmate of Prince Carol. Two of his gallant
brothers fell in the Great War. Miss Kennedy was, and still is, a great
favourite with the Queen of Roumania.

Sir John and Lady Kennedy with their daughter (the sons were for the
greater part of the time at school in England) were constant attendants
at the English church services. They took a great interest in all that
concerned the British colony, and were much kinder and more hospitable
than any of their predecessors.

Of all the foreign colonies in Bucarest the English was, until a few
years ago, the smallest. The Embassy, a few business men with their
families, a number of governesses, an English doctor, and a bank
manager were the sum total. There was no English church, but service
was held once every Sunday in a schoolroom of the Jewish mission, by
the missionary to the Jews, who spoke English remarkably well and had
taken orders in England, although himself of Jewish descent. His wife
was English, and perhaps on that account their house was the centre of
any hospitality that was shown to the English colony. Very pleasant and
homely were the little meetings that were held at the vicarage near the
school--the working parties once a fortnight at which garments were
made for the poor Jews, the weekly choir practice, and the informal
afternoon teas.

The visitors were mostly governesses, and what a delight it was to have
a cup of real English tea and a good chat without being obliged to be
on the _qui vive_ for any mistake that the speaker would be likely to
make (as one had to be when speaking to one’s pupils)! How one laughed
at any little _faux pas_ made by the native handmaiden, as for instance
one afternoon, when our hostess rang for another cup and saucer, and
the little maid put her head into the room to inquire in a hushed
voice, “A _clean_ cup and saucer, Madame?”

The working parties were always well attended. Each member cheerfully
paid her franc monthly in order to pay for materials, and no element of
discord was ever present till much later on, when some fresh arrivals
from England took it upon themselves to cavil at the manner in which
the garments were distributed. These were always given to the Jewish
poor (there were no English poor in Bucarest), and, as some folk have
no love for Jews, the newcomers protested that the articles should
be distributed to people of all nationalities. This arrangement was
finally decided upon, although it was quite unnecessary as it turned
out. The German poor were well looked after, the French also, and it
was really only the Jewish poor who seemed to be in need. Besides, as
we were considerably indebted to the Jewish missionary for his kind
help on Sundays, as well as for the hospitality shown us on every
occasion, it was, in my opinion, only right to help on their work by
every means in our power. At the time of which I speak the missionary
had no remuneration for the English service on Sundays. In later years
an arrangement was made by which the missionary gave a third part of
his time to the English community, in consideration for a fixed sum
raised by them annually.

I am glad to learn that an English church has now been built to meet
the needs of the greatly increased colony.

The English Church in Roumania, as in most parts of southern Europe,
belongs to the diocese of Gibraltar. We were visited pretty often by
the Bishop--Bishop Collins--who proposed to visit all parts of his
diocese, which included Smyrna, at least once a year. Poor man! he did
not live to carry out very many of his plans. He caught a severe cold
whilst travelling in Russia, but still insisted on preaching during his
stay in Bucarest. The consequence was that he became seriously ill, and
for a long time had to refrain from any active work. When his health
improved he again resumed his duties, hoping that a journey to the East
would complete the cure. Great was the pleasure when it was announced
that we might expect a visit from the Bishop. He arrived, but how
changed in appearance! he was not the same man. He left Roumania with
the intention of visiting Smyrna. A great reception was planned for
him there, all the English colony was _en fête_, and at the hour when
the steamer was expected all those who could possibly manage it wended
their way to the quay. Alas! their pleasure was turned into grief by
the news that it was only a dead body they were to meet--the Bishop had
died on board.

The mourning was great throughout the whole diocese, as Bishop Collins
was so greatly beloved. A charming personality, a student in his tastes
more than an active worker, he had gained the esteem and affection of
all those (preachers and people) who belonged to his diocese. His wife,
too, had been very much liked. She was his elder by some years, but
they were very devoted to each other. Indeed, there is no doubt that
her death, which took place only about a year before his own, had such
an effect upon him as to hasten the sad event.

The war has been responsible for many things. One of the few good
things is that the English have at last discovered Roumania. The
presence of British visitors in a Bucarest hotel no longer calls for
comment. A British Chamber of Commerce has even been established, and a
British club is talked about, and will no doubt soon be an accomplished
fact.

How good it is to know that the British is now not the smallest but the
largest colony!




CHAPTER XX

 The French colony--An outspoken abbé--The German colony--Its
     schools, churches, and hospitals--A split in the camp
     of deaconesses--Teaching or nursing?--A well-conducted
     hospital--Roumanian hospitals--An eminent surgeon, Dr
     Thomas Jonescu--An erratic American dentist--His exclusive
     practice--Leaves a Prince waiting with open mouth whilst he goes
     on a trip to Sinaia.


The French are fairly well represented in Roumania, and they possess
a very fine church in one of the best streets in Bucarest, which is
called “The Cathedral.” The Bishop’s name was Hornstein, which seemed
to me to sound rather more like Jerusalem than Paris. Every year, in
the month of May, a priest came from Paris to hold a kind of mission.
For two consecutive years this duty devolved upon a certain abbé, who
aroused great interest in the town. He was a very short man of rather
insignificant appearance, but very clever, and decidedly outspoken in
his utterances. The hour of service was 5 p.m., and woe betide the
unlucky worshipper who arrived late. The abbé would stop, fix his eyes
on the latecomer, and then very coldly point him or her--generally the
latter--to a vacant seat. When quiet was restored, he would resume his
discourse. His methods and style aroused the curiosity of the people,
who flocked in hundreds to hear him. The Cathedral was always packed,
French, Roumanians, English all being represented. At first the
Roumanians, who are noted for their unpunctuality, were late for the
service, but after one or two experiences they were careful to come
in time. All the little weaknesses of modern society, such as love
of dress, extravagance, the rush after amusements, were exposed and
criticised unmercifully. People never seemed to resent his outspoken
utterances, although in many cases his words must have gone home.

The French have also some schools, but they are mostly convent schools,
the teachers being monks or nuns.

The best-known French school in Bucarest is the “Dames de Sion,” the
instruction given there being of a high order, the French language
naturally being predominant. The school is not only attended by French
children; Roumanians who cannot afford to send their offspring to
Paris, often taking advantage of it.

I knew some girls who went to the “Dames de Sion,” and very curious
stories they used to relate about the greed for money displayed by
the nuns. For example, if a larger table were required in one of the
class-rooms, each pupil would be asked to bring a certain sum of money
to defray the cost. Constant requests were made to the pupils for small
sums to be used for the decoration of the chapel. A small statue was
required for this niche, a picture for another; and as for flowers for
the altar, they were _always_ needed.

This procedure caused a good deal of discontent, as Roumanians did not
see why they should be called upon to provide decorations for a chapel
that had no connection with their Church.

The expulsion of monks and nuns from France caused a great influx
of both into Roumania, just as it did, unfortunately, into our own
country, so that more convent schools are now scattered throughout the
country than was formerly the case.

I used to visit one of the convents, as there was an Irish nun there
who attracted me very much. This convent was called “Die engelische
Damen.” Since returning to England I have been much amused by a
description I read somewhere of this same convent. The sapient writer
announced that it derived its name from the fact that it was founded by
some English ladies in bygone times. Of course, the German name, which,
curiously enough, it has always borne, means “The Angel Ladies.”

Of all the foreign colonies established in Roumania the German was,
before the war, the largest. It had schools, churches, and hospitals,
and the trade carried on was considerable. There was a very large
girls’ school in Bucarest, where German, French, and English were
taught. The children were not only well taught but well trained. The
German love of order and discipline was observable in every department.
This establishment formed a striking contrast to the Roumanian schools,
where a good deal of _laissez-aller_ prevails.

Examinations were held once a year, twenty minutes only being allowed
for each subject. Germans do not consider examinations a great test of
children’s knowledge; they trust more to their progress during the year.

The school was under the control of the deaconesses, who undertook
the teaching of the German language, being at the same time nursing
sisters. They came from Kaiserswerth, a large training college and
nursing establishment on the Rhine, in which, by the way, our own
Florence Nightingale gained some of her earlier experience.

At first a very large contingent of deaconesses was sent to Bucarest,
but some years ago there was a split in the camp. The dispute was as to
whether the teaching or the nursing should predominate. In the end, it
was decided that half the number of deaconesses should remain at the
school, concentrating all their energies on teaching, whilst the other
half should open a hospital and devote their time and energy entirely
to the care of the sick.

Sister Ida, who was at the head of the nursing establishment, was a
very clever woman, with a wonderful power of organisation. Energetic to
a degree, she never rested till she succeeded in opening the hospital,
equipped with every modern convenience. A small chapel was attached,
where their own German pastor officiated, so that the sisters were not
under the necessity of attending the principal German church.

I was rather amused, whilst the dispute referred to was at its height,
to have one of the nursing sisters remark to me, “Fancy! the only
concession that we can wrest from the other side is, that when we die
we may be buried in their cemetery!” It seemed to me rather meagre
comfort.

The boys’ school was also well attended. It was run on strictly German
lines, and was under the supervision of the German pastor. The church,
which was close to the school, was quite a fine building, standing a
little back from the street. It was a typical German church in its
simplicity, severe to the last degree, till Queen Elizabeth conceived
the fantastic idea of decorating it, and thereby turned it into a
building strongly resembling a Jewish synagogue. When I entered it for
the first time after it had been decorated I could scarcely believe my
eyes. Was this the German church? I asked myself. Galleries, pillars,
and pulpit were hung with crimson velvet on which were texts of
scripture in gilt German characters! giving the whole church a tawdry
as well as a decidedly Jewish appearance.

A true German church is simplicity itself, so that the contrast struck
me immediately. How an artistic woman, as Queen Elizabeth undoubtedly
was, could perpetrate such an outrage upon good taste passed my
comprehension.

The hospital, situated at some distance from the town, equipped, as I
have said, with every modern convenience, was a boon to all foreigners.
There was better nursing to be had there than in the Roumanian
hospitals, as all the sisters were well trained. The hospital was
visited by both Roumanian and German doctors; in fact, an inmate could
have any doctor he wished to call in.

The food was very good, and plenty of milk was always to be had.
Buffalo milk, by the way, is very much used in Roumania; and although
at first one finds it very rich, still, after becoming accustomed to
it, cow’s milk seems poor in comparison.

One thing I have noticed abroad (this is also by the way) which seems
to me worthy of imitation in England. It is that milk is always boiled.
No one thinks of drinking milk without having it boiled first. As milk
carries infection so readily, this seems to me a necessary precaution.

The Roumanian hospitals cannot be held up as a pattern to other
countries, as, in regard to nursing, they are very much behind-hand.
Trained nurses are unknown. Any woman who applies may be engaged as
“nurse”--the only stipulation being that she must don cap and apron for
the arrival of the visiting doctors, or for an operation. During the
rest of the day she may wear what she likes. These attendants, for they
are no more, seldom master even the first rudiments of nursing.

The manager or director of the hospital (not necessarily a doctor)
is allowed so much a head for the feeding of the patients. If he can
contrive to do it economically, the surplus goes, of course, into his
own pocket.

I went to see a sick friend in the largest hospital in Bucarest, and
the food that I saw for distribution in the wards was of very inferior
quality. My friend, who had a private room, had everything sent to
her from outside, the medical student who looked in from time to time
advising her not even to drink the milk provided; presumably it was too
well watered.

The one redeeming feature of the hospitals is that they are quite
free. No matter of what nationality you are, you will be attended
(and nursed after a fashion) quite free of charge. If a patient has a
little interest, or knows anyone who will speak for him, he may even be
allotted a private room.

The peasants, who have never had any pampering, are often quite happy
and contented with their treatment at the hospital, and leave the place
with regret.

The inefficiency of the hospital nurses is all the more remarkable when
one remembers the high qualifications and great skill of the physicians
and surgeons of Roumania.

The most eminent surgeon in Bucarest is Prof. Thomas Jonescu, brother
of M. Take Jonescu. Though not the actual inventor of the anæsthetic
stovaine, it was he who discovered the almost miraculous power obtained
by the addition of strychnia. This wonderful compound, applied locally,
absolutely deprives the patient of sensation in the region to be
operated upon. I heard Prof. Jonescu once declare that he had cut off
a leg whilst the subject of the operation calmly looked on and made
remarks about the performance.

Everyone who has lived in Bucarest has known or heard stories of the
remarkable American dentist Dr Y----. He was of an extremely taciturn
disposition, very erratic in his ways and with few intimate friends.
Notwithstanding his peculiarities, he had the names of the best
families in Roumania on his books, including the late Queen, whose
confidence he enjoyed for many years. Probably it was on this account
that he was so very careful as to new patients. One year he went away
for a holiday, and, on returning, his assistant, who had not been long
in his service, or indeed in Bucarest, proudly showed him the list of
new patients he had gained. Dr Y---- took the list, looked through it
silently, and then with his pencil calmly struck out name after name
till very few were left on the sheet. He returned the list to the
astonished assistant with the remark, “I do not attend such people.”

One of his patients was Prince G----, who died some years ago. An
experience of his with Dr Y---- caused great amusement, and it _was_
rather amusing--to others. At the hour appointed by the doctor, Prince
G---- arrived and took his place in the operating chair. After working
for some minutes, the doctor, with a muttered apology, left the room,
leaving Prince G----, with his mouth open, momentarily expecting his
return. As time passed and the doctor did not reappear, the Prince
became impatient and rang the bell. What was his amazement to learn
from the servant that Doctor Y---- had left for Sinaia!

In spite of his peculiar ways, Dr Y---- is remembered with pleasure
by many people. For one thing, he made the best plum puddings I ever
tasted! At Christmas time he made a number of these puddings and
distributed them among the families of his friends and acquaintances.




CHAPTER XXI

 The coming of King Carol--Roumanians dislike the Germans and
     _hate_ the Hungarians--King Carol a reticent, self-contained,
     lonely man--His only public appearances--A ball for the _hoi
     polloi_--King Carol’s father his sole adviser--His desire to
     abdicate--Roumania owes much to the late King.


The circumstances attending King Carol’s coming to Roumania were
undoubtedly of a romantic character. The leading Liberal statesman at
the time of the deposition of Prince Cuza (the last native ruler of
Roumania) was Jean Bratiano, whose son--similarly named--was Premier
during the early part of the war. Bratiano had completed his education
at the University of Bonn, and this circumstance, unimportant in
itself, was fraught with great consequences for his country. The
Liberal statesman, comparing German methods with those to which he had
been accustomed in Roumania, fell under the Teutonic spell, and when a
new ruler was required for his country it was toward the Hohenzollern
family he turned his eyes. The choice ultimately fell upon Prince
Carol, a scion of the Roman Catholic branch of that family.

As it was well known that Austria would object to any such arrangement,
obvious difficulties lay in the way of conveying the prospective king
through that country. Bratiano hit upon a somewhat theatrical plan.
Inducing Prince Carol to enact the rôle of valet, he travelled with him
from Vienna. There were no railways available in those days, and the
whole journey to the Roumanian frontier was made by steamboat. At the
last stopping-place on Austro-Hungarian soil passports were demanded,
and the German valet, “Anton Küchner,” strangely forgot his name. There
was consternation for a few minutes, and official suspicion was aroused
that all was not as it should be, but Bratiano retained his presence
of mind, and, making it appear that “Küchner” was a stupid country
lad, gave the names himself. The danger was averted, and Roumania was
reached in safety. The Prince met with a very good reception from his
future subjects, whose respect he certainly commanded throughout his
subsequent career. From his accession in 1866, he reigned for some time
as “Prince of Roumania,” and it was not, indeed, until after the battle
of Plevna, when the Roumanians succeeded in completely throwing off the
yoke of the Turks, that he assumed the title of King. His crown was
made of iron obtained from a cannon captured at Plevna.

How the country developed under the rule of the late King Carol is
generally known. Methods of transport had hitherto been of an archaic
character, but soon the country was intersected by an efficient railway
system. This opened the way for industrial enterprise, and factories
were established for the manufacture of furniture, glass, cloth,
cheese, etc. These undertakings were chiefly conducted by Germans, and
it is an open secret that the King had substantial interest in all or
nearly all of them. The comment is frequently heard that the personal
fortunes of King Carol became vastly improved after his accession to
the throne.

The late King Carol, as has already been indicated, was very German in
his ideas and tastes.

As a Latin race the sympathies of the Roumanians are naturally inclined
to the French. French is the prevailing language in Roumania, or
perhaps I had better say was, for, as I remark elsewhere, English
is now gaining ground rapidly. French fashions are followed, French
literature is the most widely read, and it is to Paris that the
majority of young Roumanians are sent to finish their studies.

In no class of society does one find a feeling favourable to the
Germans. Nothing in the German character appeals to the finer feelings
of the Roumanians. German is spoken, after a fashion, but no interest
is shown in the study of it, as is the case where French and English
are concerned.

King Carol was a reticent, self-contained man. In all those long
years spent in Roumania he was never known to have a personal friend.
There was an aloofness about him which was one of his distinguishing
characteristics, and he never seemed to unbend. I have been frequently
told that when he accorded an audience he never sat down during the
interview, even although it might last an hour. The visitor was
therefore obliged to stand also. It was very seldom that the King was
seen at any public gathering or entertainment--indeed, never save when
his presence was absolutely necessary.

During the winter three public balls were given at the Court, besides
more informal dances and soirées. The first ball of the season was
given on New Year’s Day, and to it anyone could go. It was only
necessary to write one’s name in the “Congratulations Book” provided at
the entrance of the Palace, and an invitation was at once forwarded.
These gatherings were most amusing, the wives of butchers and bakers
wearing the most extravagant toilets. The crush was tremendous, and
reached its culminating point when supper was announced. Then each
one’s aim was to get downstairs as quickly as possible in order to get
a good place at table. Elbows were freely used to force a passage;
common courtesy was not even thought of. What the King’s thoughts were
at such a sight it would be interesting to know, but they were never
divulged. The Court of course had a table apart. The crush was so great
that dancing was well-nigh impossible, and, as all the available seats
in the ballroom were quickly occupied, it speedily became very tiresome
for those who were obliged to stand.

An acquaintance of mine told me that as she was very tired on one of
these occasions her husband asked a lackey to fetch a chair. To their
astonishment he replied that it was impossible to do so, as the King
had given strict orders that chairs were not to be moved from one room
to another. It seems strange that a King should trouble himself with
such details.

Although the King was a splendid horseman, he was rarely seen on
horseback, except on the 10th of May, when the great review was held;
then he always rode from the Métropole (Cathedral) surrounded by a
brilliant suite, to the Boulevard, where the marchpast took place. As
for walking, the King was never seen on foot, in the town at any rate.
All such exercise was, I believe, taken in the park at Cotroceni, the
residence of the Crown Prince and Princess, situated about two miles
distant from the capital.

In truth the King lived a lonely life, only being seen by the public
when some function required his presence. He was a born soldier, and
brought the army up to its present state of efficiency. The government
of Roumania was by no means an easy task, and so the King must have
found, as has been seen by some letters of his to his father which were
published a year or two ago. His father seems to have been his constant
friend and adviser in all difficult moments, and that his advice was
always good has been seen in the light of later events.

Several times King Carol thought of abdicating, but, his father
strongly opposing such a step, he practised patience, and luckily for
the country remained at the head of affairs till the last. Roumania
owes much to King Carol--its progress, prosperity, and present position
as an advanced and enlightened country.




CHAPTER XXII

 Queen Elizabeth (Carmen Sylva)--An early dilemma: no divorcees, no
     Court--A quaint divorce story--The true story of the meeting of
     Carol and Elizabeth--Did she love the country or its King?--Her
     dead child’s tomb--The Queen as a writer--Her passion for
     music--Pity the poor professional!--Cold soup for the King--The
     Queen’s personal appearance--Her asylum for the blind, and the
     German manager who failed--“My Sixtieth Birthday,” and how it was
     spent--The Queen and the _enfants terribles_--The orphans of the
     “Asyle Hélène”--Cotroceni and its unlucky palace.


On adopting the responsibility of a reigning Queen, Carmen Sylva was
faced with the problem of who should be entitled to visit at Court. In
talking the matter over with the Court Chamberlain, she expressed the
wish that no lady should be invited to Court who had been divorced.
Great was the amazement of the Chamberlain. “But your Majesty could
never form a Court under those conditions,” was his quick reply.
Finally, after much discussion, the decision was arrived at that no
lady who had been divorced more than twice should be eligible for
Court entertainments. I think this little fact (for it is a fact)
sufficiently demonstrates how very lightly marriage ties were then
thought of in Roumania; and I must confess that things are not very
much better in these days, as divorces are still sought under the most
trivial pretexts. Incompatibility of temperament is frequently accepted
as a sufficient plea.

If a man divorce his wife or is divorced by her, the law allows him to
marry again but not to marry the same woman. This very often gives rise
to piquant situations. Sometimes a man after a few weeks’ separation
realises the truth of the aphorism, “Absence makes the heart grow
fonder,” and yearns to return to his first love. He is met, however, by
the stern decree of the law, “Thou shalt not.” Being unable to alter
the law, he frequently takes unto himself his former helpmeet, and
lives with her without the sanction of Church or State.

A rather amusing case came under my own observation some years ago. A
professor of one of the colleges was betrothed to a young girl whom I
knew intimately. They seemed mutually attracted (not always the case in
Roumanian marriages), and as the relatives on both sides seemed equally
pleased, everything went as merrily as the proverbial wedding bell.
The house was taken, furnished, and decorated. This is always the work
of the bride, and is carried out at the expense of her parents, as the
bridegroom-elect is not supposed to contribute anything towards setting
up housekeeping. The marriage took place, and a great reception was
given at which champagne flowed freely. All seemed to go well for some
months, then the first little rift in the lute appeared. Vague stories
were heard that all was not in harmony at the professor’s; then,
later on, that the couple were going to seek a divorce. They not only
sought it, but obtained it, the lady returning to her parents, and the
gentleman resuming his former bachelor life.

All this may seem commonplace enough, but the sequel was a curious
one. The summer holidays were approaching, Madame longed to travel,
but to travel alone was not to be thought of. Her former husband was
approached on the subject. He agreed to accompany her; the details of
the journey were arranged, and they started off together. One might
have thought that they would have been quite reconciled to remain
together after that. Not at all. On their return, they calmly said
“Good-bye” to each other, she once more returning to her parents, and
he to his bachelor quarters.

The romantic story of how the Prince of Roumania met Princess Elizabeth
of Neuwied at the palace in Berlin, and caught her in his arms as she
was falling downstairs, has been so often denied by the late Queen,
that it is unnecessary to refer further to it here.

The real meeting came about in this wise. Princess Elizabeth was
staying at Cologne with her mother for a short time, and one evening
arrangements were made to attend a concert. In the course of the
afternoon the Prince of Roumania called on the two ladies, to the
great delight of the Princess. She plied him with questions about the
country and people, and listened eagerly to everything that he could
tell her. So interested was she that concert and everything else were
forgotten--she could only think and talk of Roumania.

On being told later that the Prince of Roumania sought her in marriage,
she readily consented, not, I think, so much from love of the Prince as
from interest in his country. One child was the result of the marriage,
a little girl named Marie, who died at the age of five from an attack
of scarlatina. This was a great grief to the parents, especially to
the Queen, who was passionately fond of children. She had the child
buried in the park of Cotroceni, a palace at a short distance from
Bucarest. The tomb erected there is of white marble, and represents
the child asleep in her little bed. The coverlet seems to have become
disarranged, and one little foot is showing. It is a pretty idea,
and has been remarkably well carried out by the artist. The tomb is
surrounded by a high railing, and is always guarded by a policeman.

The late Queen of Roumania was an extremely gifted woman, an authoress,
linguist, painter, and musician. She has been well known to the
literary world under the pseudonym Carmen Sylva, derived from the Latin
words for “song” and “forest.”

Her books, _Deficit_, _Letters from the Battlefield_, _Thoughts of
a Queen_, are extremely interesting. But music was a passion with
her. A violinist or pianist who decided to come and give a concert at
Bucarest was sure of an enthusiastic welcome from the Queen. He would
be summoned to the palace to play for her Majesty, but his difficulty
would be to get away again.

She would be so entranced in the music, asking for one piece after
another, that the poor tired musician would barely get away in time
for the evening concert. Sometimes the performance at the palace was
not quite private; the Queen would issue a number of invitations to
a matinée. On one of these occasions a friend of mine was present,
and she gave me a most amusing account of the affair. The matinée
continued till far into the evening, the Queen, as usual, asking for
“one more sonata,” till the King (who wisely absented himself from
such frivolities), feeling the want of his dinner, lost patience. A
lackey entered and announced to her Majesty in a low tone that dinner
was served. She nodded smilingly but did not move. A second time the
unlucky man was obliged to appear, but it was not till the King had
sent three times to say that the soup was on the table that the Queen
reluctantly decided to dismiss her guests.

The late Queen was also a poetess of no mean order, composing sonnets
at odd moments--sometimes even during the night if she were in a
wakeful mood. The King would then be awakened from a sound sleep to
pass judgment upon the work.

After that, one will not be astonished to hear that the King of
Roumania had a sweet temper.

As a young girl, the Queen, as her photographs show, was very pretty,
with fair hair and rosy cheeks--the usual type of German beauty. In
later life she became very stout, and with her extremely red face
framed in perfectly white hair she presented a rather remarkable
appearance. She never wore either hat or bonnet, simply a lace mantilla
thrown carelessly over her head.

One never saw her without a smile on her face, so that one could not
help wondering if it were still there during her sleep. She had very
affable manners, and could be extremely charming.

Now, one must not think that the Queen was only artistic. That is not
so; the practical side of her character was seen from time to time.
At the time of the war against Turkey her Majesty did splendid work.
Ladies were invited to the palace to help in making bandages, others in
making garments; a regular scheme of practical aid for the soldiers
was organised by the Queen.

She also founded an asylum for the blind. In former times blind persons
were allowed to get their living as best they could, by begging or
otherwise; but the Queen’s scheme provided them with food and lodging,
and at the same time they were taught a useful trade. Subscriptions
from abroad poured in (who could refuse a Queen?), and I believe Andrew
Carnegie was a generous subscriber.

Unfortunately, as time went on, unpleasant rumours about this blind
asylum were rife in town. When its affairs came to be examined, it
was found that the superintendent (a German) had been guilty of gross
mismanagement. It was a great shock to the Queen, as she had fully
trusted the German. The King was very much annoyed about the affair,
and insisted on the Queen giving up all active participation in the
asylum.

One felt rather sorry for King Carol at times. He was so reticent,
self-contained and controlled, that he must have found extremely
galling the annoying affairs into which he was constantly drawn by the
great activity or enthusiasm of the Queen.

She was, as the Germans so happily express it, a little _überspannt_.
I shall never forget the time she attained her sixtieth year. On this
occasion she penned an article entitled “My Sixtieth Birthday,” which
was published in all the papers. In it she expressed her joy that she
had now attained her sixtieth year, as all the storms and troubles of
life were happily behind her. She then went on to relate how she had
spent this happy day. In the evening she had gone to the theatre; on
returning home her little deaf-and-dumb maid, whom she had brought
with her from Germany, was hidden under the table, and from there
discoursed sweet music from a musical box. All the Queen’s little
kittens were decorated with new ribbons for the occasion; whilst on the
table and chairs were the presents that had arrived during her absence.
Much time was taken up examining all these treasures; then after
another tune from the musical box, and a last kiss for the kitties,
she prepared to go to rest in a small room adjoining her boudoir. She
was anxious to tell us that she never disturbed the King when she came
in late. This was very considerate of her, but probably he lost enough
rest when she was seized with her fits of poetic inspiration.

As I have already remarked, the late Queen was very fond of children,
and always happy when surrounded by them. But there were moments of
anxiety for their elders, as the little mites could not be expected
always to exercise discretion.

A lady whom I knew had been in Paris for a few years with her husband.
On returning to Bucarest the Queen expressed a wish to see her little
boys. The children were taken to the palace and presented to her
Majesty, who caressed them and made a great fuss over them. In the
course of conversation she inquired, “Now, children, what did you think
about me when you knew you were coming to see a Queen? What did you
think I should be like?” To the dismay of the mother, a clear treble
voice piped out, “I didn’t think you would be so old.” The Queen,
however, took it very well, merely remarking, “But grandmamma is
also old.” “Oh no,” objected both children; “grandmamma is not old;
she hasn’t white hair like you.” One may imagine the relief of the
children’s mother when the audience was at an end.

Children loved the Queen. The present chargé-d’affaires, M. Boerescu,
was a courtier even in his childhood. When quite a little chap the
Queen kissed him one day. For nearly a week he would not let the spot
be washed.

At one side of the park, Cotroceni, there stands a fine handsome
building named “Asyle Hélène” after its foundress, Princess Hélène
Cuza. It is a school for orphan girls, in which they receive
instruction and are trained for domestic service. The girls are also
taught embroidery and fine needlework, and the specimens they turn out
are really very creditable to them. Should one of their number receive
an offer of marriage and the young man prove to be a suitable _parti_,
consent is willingly given and the necessary arrangements made by the
authorities of the orphanage. The bride-elect is not only supplied with
a complete trousseau, but is also the recipient of a certain number of
articles for use in her house.

The late Queen took great interest in the girls of the “Asyle
Hélène,” and arranged many little treats for them from time to time,
in consequence of which she was greatly beloved. As I have already
mentioned, the Queen’s little daughter, Princess Marie, lies buried in
the park of Cotroceni, “placed,” as the Queen herself said, “in the
care of the orphan girls of the Asyle Hélène.”

The park itself is of considerable extent, and contains some fine
trees. The palace stands on an eminence commanding a good view of the
town; indeed, from the windows of Queen Marie’s boudoir one can see
straight up the Boulevard for a considerable distance.

The late King and Queen were very fond of Cotroceni, and frequently
stayed there. In their time it was a simple country house, with long
French windows opening out on the parterres of flowers in front.

On the marriage of Prince Ferdinand the old house was razed to the
ground and a newer and more pretentious residence erected which
was specially intended for the use of the young couple. Cotroceni,
unfortunately, has never proved a very healthy site. Even at the time
of the rebuilding of the palace the workmen were constantly being
attacked by malaria. It was at Cotroceni that the present King was,
many years ago, attacked by typhoid fever, when his life was despaired
of. The latest tragic occurrence at the unlucky palace has been the
lamented death of little Prince Mircea, when typhoid again made its
dreaded presence manifest.




CHAPTER XXIII

 Ferdinand of Sigmaringen becomes heir to the throne--He is a good
     soldier and a favourite with his officers--The friend of the
     Allies--His marriage with Princess Marie--The Princess’s
     home-coming: a lonely stranger--A gala performance--The Prince’s
     mission to Germany--Roumanian officers meet half a dozen Herr
     “Mahlzeits.”


As the late King Carol of Roumania had no children (his little daughter
having died young), he chose, with the consent of the Roumanians, his
nephew Ferdinand of Sigmaringen as his successor. The latter, like
his uncle, was a Roman Catholic, and to this the Roumanians made no
objection, only stipulating that in the event of his marriage his
children should be baptised into the Greek Church--a very natural
condition, I think.

The present King of Roumania has many characteristics of his race, is a
great stickler for etiquette and a good soldier, but is not so versed
in the art of diplomacy as King Carol. On account of his soldierly
qualities he is a great favourite with the officers of his army. His
accession to the throne was not looked forward to with universally
confident feelings, but he has surprised most people by the manner
in which he has adapted himself to the position. He carries himself
much more assuredly, and has a dignified bearing that impresses the
Roumanians. He was, I believe, entirely at one with his people as
regards the late war.

He married Princess Marie of Edinburgh, and well do I remember the day
of the bride’s entrance into Bucarest. It was an awkward moment for her
arrival, as Queen Elizabeth was just then absent from the country and
there was really no one to initiate her into the mysteries of Court
life in Roumania. It was said that the Duchess of Edinburgh had wished
her daughter to be accompanied by an English maid-of-honour; but on
that point King Carol was very obstinate, and would not allow it on
any account. It must have been a lonely time for the young girl of
seventeen, in a strange country and surrounded by strangers. Even the
King and Prince Ferdinand came under this description, as I believe she
had seen very little of them before her marriage.

The day of her state entrance into the capital was one of great
excitement. The streets were decorated; a profusion of flowers was in
evidence, and of course the national colours, red, blue, and yellow,
were to be seen everywhere. I had a place on a balcony near the royal
palace, from which I had a splendid view.

Everyone was eager to see the Princess, and as the time approached
for the procession to leave the railway station the excitement became
intense. Finally some mounted police made their appearance in order to
clear the way, after them a detachment of cavalry, then at last the
royal carriage. It was a state carriage, glass on all sides, and it was
simply embowered in flowers. Princess Marie, looking rather pale and
scared, was seated beside King Carol, whilst Prince Ferdinand occupied
a back seat. It seemed rather hard lines for the newly-made husband to
be relegated to a solitary back seat, but naturally it could not be
arranged otherwise in the Queen’s absence. The procession went straight
to the Métropole, where the marriage service was performed for the
third time. In the evening there was a gala performance at the National
Theatre.

Some friends and I shared a box, from which we had a good view of the
royal box. Princess Marie looked charmingly sweet and girlish, with
her turquoise ornaments on throat and hair. Prince Ferdinand on this
occasion had a front seat, as the King was not present. The latter very
rarely attended a theatre.

When the present King was simply Prince Ferdinand, he was sent on a
mission to Germany by King Carol. In his suite were three or four
officers who had no acquaintance whatever with the German language.

On the day of their arrival at S---- the Prince and his suite were
entertained to a banquet by the officers of the garrison. The Roumanian
officers entered the anteroom before the Prince appeared, and were
somewhat at a loss. Now all travellers know that Continental people
in such circumstances introduce themselves by mentioning their names.
Those acquainted with Germany will also know that the invariable
greeting at dinner is “Mahlzeit,” an expression which, whilst it
literally means “meal-time,” is really equivalent to _bon appetit_.
So it came about that when a German officer with his hand on his
heart approached a Roumanian, and bowing said “Mahlzeit,” the latter
responded with “Bibescu,” as he warmly shook hands. To the greeting
“Mahlzeit,” tendered by another of their hosts, a second Roumanian
officer murmured “Greciano,” and Florescu and others followed suit.

Later, in conversation with Prince Ferdinand, the puzzled Roumanians
commented upon the curious fact that their hosts all belonged to the
same family and bore the name of “Mahlzeit.” The officer who told me
the story said that when the Prince fairly understood what had occurred
he roared with laughter. “I have never,” my friend said, “seen the
Prince so relax his reserve. He simply could not contain himself for
some minutes, and for a long time he made a point of greeting us with
‘Mahlzeit’ upon every possible occasion.”




CHAPTER XXIV

 The Princess in a merry mood--How Prince Ferdinand deluged the
     tablecloth--A curtain lecture for Princess Marie?--The royal
     children--Elizabeth a beauty--Mignonne (Marie) “a beautiful little
     snow-maiden,” yet piquant and merry--Ileana of the china-blue
     eyes has a great idea of her own importance--Prince Carol, a fine
     fellow, learns politeness--He and Elizabeth eat raw carrots in
     the Minister’s garden--A war game with Pat Kennedy, when neither
     would be a Boer--Pretty Prince Nicolas, “a little terror”--Nicolas
     as a sailor--His watch on deck and his sea-strut--An adventure at
     Piræus--A sailor valet--Nicolas’s first communion and his struggle
     with the bread--The royal governesses--A little story about the
     Queen of Holland.


Princess Marie must often have been amused at the German habits of the
people by whom she was surrounded. Although King Carol was so firm in
not allowing her to be accompanied by even one English lady-in-waiting,
that did not prevent him from surrounding himself with Germans. To
a large extent the etiquette of the Court was German, and unrefined
German practices were frequently observable at table.

As many people are aware, they had a horrid habit in the highest
circles in the Fatherland of rinsing the mouth at table after eating,
and then ejecting the water into a finger-glass. On the occasion of a
big dinner-party, a few weeks after the marriage, Princess Marie was in
a gay mood. Seeing her husband perform the customary mouth ablution,
and prompted by a spirit of mischief, she raised her finger and poked
it into his distended cheek. Tableau! The water spurted across the
table, and there was something like consternation for a moment or two.
For my own part, I was rejoiced when the scene was described to me by a
friend who was present. It showed that the poor little lonely Princess
had not lost her spirit. Prince Ferdinand had sense enough not to
appear angry, whatever he may have felt, but the King was inexpressibly
shocked.

The present King and Queen have now five children, two sons and three
daughters, all of them handsome, as might be expected with such
handsome parents.

Princess Elizabeth, the eldest girl, now the wife of the Crown Prince
of Greece, is a great beauty, with perfect features and lovely fair
hair.

Princess Marie (the second girl), or Mignonne, as she is affectionately
called, was a beautiful little snow-maiden. She is quite healthy, I
believe, but one cannot help being struck with the perfect whiteness of
her skin; her hand lies in yours like a snowflake. Her nose is of the
_retroussé_ type, and, together with a merry pair of grey eyes, gives a
piquant expression to her face.

The youngest girl, Ileana, is also fair, with china-blue eyes. Even
as a very young child she had a great idea of her own importance, and
if the person to whom she was presented did not please her she could
not be induced to be pleasant. At the garden parties at Sinaia it was
most amusing to watch her parading about among the guests with quite a
consequential air, and she was not much more than a baby then.

Prince Carol, the eldest son, recently married to Princess Hélène of
Greece, is a fine fellow, though I dare say he is much changed since
the days when it was his greatest delight to get with his sister
Elizabeth into the garden of M. Costinescu, Minister of Finance,
and eat raw carrots! Well, I dare say they did them no harm, as no
complaint has ever been made of their digestions.

At that time Prince Carol’s playmate was little Pat Kennedy, the
youngest son of Sir John Kennedy, the English Minister. Usually they
agreed very well together, but one day (it was during the Boer War)
King Carol happened to pass through the apartment where the children
were playing. To his surprise a heated discussion was taking place. On
inquiring the cause of the dispute, he found that they wished to play
soldiers, but neither of them would consent to be a Boer!

The King soon settled the point; he ruled that as Pat was English,
he must act the English soldier, while Prince Carol, greatly to his
disgust, was obliged to take the part of a Boer. He exclaimed, “I don’t
care. I have an English mother anyhow.”

Prince Nicolas, the second son, named after the Czar of Russia, is
a nice boy. When tiny he was almost too pretty for a boy. He was,
however, a real little terror.

At the afternoon teas at the palace he was occasionally present with
his brother and sisters. He would offer cake with such insistence that
one was obliged to take some whether one wished it or not. I remember
an acquaintance of mine being asked to recite at one of the Princess’s
“At homes.” All the time she was reciting she was intently watched by
Prince Nicolas. Immediately she had finished, the little imp placed
himself in front of her and faithfully imitated every one of her
gestures, to the great amusement of the assembled company, but rather
to the confusion of my friend.

Prince Nicolas was thought to be rather delicate, and was frequently
ordered to take sea voyages, much to his delight, as he was very fond
of the sea. On one of those voyages, a few years ago, a small adventure
befell him. Princess Mignonne and he, accompanied by a confidential
maid, embarked on a Roumanian steamer bound for Greece. Some friends of
mine, M. and Mme. Nacescu and their daughter, who were also on board,
gave me an interesting account of how Prince Nicolas comported himself.
A thorough little sailor, he could be seen strutting the deck whatever
the weather, generally with a huge chunk of bread sticking out of his
pocket, at which he nibbled from time to time. Whilst the ship was
lying at the Piræus, the port of Athens, the Greek military authorities
took it into their heads that a soldier who had deserted was concealed
on board.

There was a great hubbub, as both Greeks and Roumanians are always
quick with their tongues. During the search that was made of the
steamer, and the heated altercations which accompanied it, the royal
children were kept closely to their cabin. The deserter was not found,
so the Greeks were perforce obliged to withdraw. On the children
regaining their freedom, little Prince Nicolas was heard to exclaim,
“When we get back to Roumania and send a lot of our men here, then
these Greeks will see something!”

He took a great fancy to one of the sailors on board, and, as he would
not be separated from him, the sailor was obliged to attend him on his
return home as a sort of valet.

I met them in the woods at Sinaia one day, and it was most amusing to
watch their proceedings. Princess Mignonne, Nicolas, and the maid were
in front, the sailor some paces behind. The last-named was carrying
something for the Prince--a knife, I believe; and he must assuredly
have wished himself back on his ship to have a little peace. Nicolas
would give him the knife to carry, then after a few steps he would turn
and take it from him. This play was kept up till the children were out
of sight, and I dare say it was continued much longer.

One Sunday all the royal children were at the monastery in Sinaia
for service. It is the custom in the Greek Church for all children,
whatever their age, to take the communion. Bread only is partaken of;
the forehead is touched by the priest with a little brush dipped in
oil; the communicant kisses the priest’s hand, and the ceremony is
ended.

Prince Carol, as the eldest, went up first to partake, the others
following according to age. Little Nicolas, the youngest, was of course
last, and, being in a panic lest he should be left there alone, he
seized in his haste such a large piece of bread, that as they were
filing out of church he could still be seen surreptitiously stuffing
his finger into his mouth in an effort to facilitate its passage.

And now Nicolas is a big boy at Eton. I wonder if he retains his
nautical tastes.

When the royal children were of an age to begin lessons, the first
governess they had was an Irish lady, Miss F----, of whom the little
ones were very fond. Princess Marie, at a later period, went to
Germany on a visit to her mother, the Duchess of Edinburgh, and upon
her return she found that Miss W----, an Englishwoman and a former
governess of the Queen of Holland, had been installed as governess to
the children. It was said that she had been appointed by King Carol.
Princess Marie certainly took umbrage at the arrangement, and said that
she herself was the proper person to decide who should be the governess
of her children. She never rested till Miss W---- was relieved of her
charge.

I may be forgiven for relating here a little anecdote of Miss W----’s
experiences at the Court of Holland. It appears that on one occasion
the present Queen had incurred the displeasure of her governess, and as
a punishment she was told to draw the map of Europe. This she did, but
not restricting herself to the actual features of the map, she drew it
to suit her own ideas, and probably with a spice of revenge governing
them. When the map was finished Holland appeared in it a vast country,
whilst England was the merest speck in the ocean.

The next governess to be engaged for the royal children of Roumania
was Miss M----, who educated the children of the Duke and Duchess of
Connaught, and gained a great deal of credit through the social success
of those charming sisters.




CHAPTER XXV

 Winter in Roumania--Fêtes on the ice--An “escaped bear” causes a
     sensation, till he loses his head--Prince Carol establishes
     the bob-sleigh as a society craze--An unlucky accident to
     Princess Elizabeth--An end to bob-sleighing--Sleighs and winter
     costumes--Christmas--New Year’s Eve.


Winter is a very agreeable season of the year in Roumania for persons
who enjoy good health and for whom frost and snow have no terrors. The
cold is very severe at times, but the brilliant sunshine and the bright
blue sky overhead compensate for the lowness of the temperature. The
winter scene is seldom without snow, which lies deep on the ground; and
although the law demands that each householder must clear it away from
before his door, the regulation is rarely enforced. Indeed, I noticed
that it was seldom cleared away from before the Prime Minister’s own
door, and I did think that perhaps example would have been better than
precept. However, the snow remains on the pavements for days, till
a good hard frost comes to solidify it, and only then, when it is
absolutely dangerous to life and limb, do the authorities send out men
with pickaxes to clear it away. It very often happens that, during this
process, the pavement becomes cracked or broken, but that is all in the
day’s work, and will give employment to someone else.

Skating is a very popular amusement, and some very fine figure-skating
has been seen on the lake in the small park of Cismegiu, but the ice is
not so well cared for, as, for example, in Vienna. The cracks are never
filled up, nor is the ice well swept. Cigarette-ends and burnt-out
matches are often to be found lying about, so that skaters must go
warily if they wish to avoid a nasty fall.

Sometimes in the evening fêtes are arranged, when fancy dress is worn,
and the scene is very brilliant and animated when the skaters in their
varied costumes are to be seen gliding gracefully round the decorated
pond to the lively music of the band. I have seen some wonderfully
effective costumes on such occasions--Russians with coats heavily
befurred, Chinamen sailing along with pigtails flying, dainty little
Japanese ladies with innumerable pins in their high coiled-up hair, and
always, of course, Mephistopheles playing his usual part.

But what caused real excitement on one occasion was the appearance
amongst the skaters of a huge Russian bear, who floundered about on the
ice in most unwieldy fashion. His advent caused tremendous excitement,
people imagining that it was a real bear which had escaped from
captivity. Ladies flew from the furry monster shrieking--and, alas! not
ladies only. When the bear, with huge extended arms, attempted pursuit,
panic ensued, and there were loud cries for someone to shoot the
animal. In the midst of the excitement, Master Bruin took off his head
and revealed the laughing face of M. J----, a well-known figure in the
society of the capital. The effect was electrical. Roars of laughter
were heard on every side, and throngs surrounded the bear impersonator,
congratulating him upon the success of his joke. Ultimately he was made
to resume his head and was carried round the ice in triumph.

Ski-ing is practised to some extent, but is not nearly so popular as
skating. The country in the neighbourhood of Bucarest is not suitable
for the practice of the Scandinavian sport.

Prince Carol had, I think, become acquainted with the bob-sleigh
through some friends who had been to Switzerland; at any rate, he
became such an enthusiast on the subject that he would not rest
satisfied until a course was laid at Sinaia. So it came about
one winter that bob-sleighing was the latest society craze. The
starting-point was situated at a spot high up in the woods beyond the
palace, and the course led down by many sharp curves and bends to the
bridge over the river Pelesch, thence the winding route descending to
the main road. A telephone was installed, so that notice of the arrival
of a sleigh at the terminus could be given before another was permitted
to start. The course was also guarded by soldiers to prevent imprudent
spectators from running into danger.

The pleasure-loving Roumanians spared no expense over their new hobby.
Bob-sleighs were procured from Switzerland at a cost of about £25 each,
all the other necessaries were provided, and arrangements made without
regard to expense.

Prince Carol and his friends were an enthusiastic and a merry crew, the
spice of danger adding a zest to their enjoyment of the sport.

One unlucky day, however, an accident occurred which put a sudden end
to bob-sleighing at Sinaia. It chanced that a sleigh in which Princess
Elizabeth was a passenger got into difficulties half-way down the track
and became deeply embedded in the snow. The efforts to extricate it
took time, and the occupants of the next sleigh becoming impatient,
started on their downward career without awaiting the signal that all
was clear. The horror of the helpless passengers in the royal sleigh
may be imagined when they saw sleigh number two charging down upon them
at furious speed. A collision seemed inevitable, and fatal results
would most likely have ensued had it not been for the presence of mind
and gallantry of Dr C----, who steered the second sleigh. Without a
thought of the dreadful risk he ran, he turned his car into the face of
the granite rock which bounded the course at this point. His own face
was sadly damaged through the impact, but more serious consequences
were averted. The royal sleigh was slightly involved, and Princess
Elizabeth sustained a bruised ankle.

When the news of the accident arrived in Bucarest, King Carol was, I
understand, very angry. Living the secluded life he did, he never had
any sympathy with such new-fangled sports. A stern command came from
Bucarest to cease bob-sleighing immediately, and the young people were
ordered to return forthwith to the capital. This decree admitted of no
appeal, so very ruefully the sleighs were stored away and the party
returned to town.

Most probably Prince Carol received a good lecture from the King on the
dangers of such sport. At any rate, there was no more bob-sleighing
that winter.

Ordinary sleighing is always practised when the snow is deep enough.
All the wheeled carriages disappear at once from the streets, and
sleighs are the only vehicles to be seen. They are very neat little
vehicles, quite low, and drawn by two horses. There is room for two
occupants, with the driver in front seated on a narrow wooden ledge.
At the back of the sleigh there is another wooden ledge which provides
standing-room for one or two gentlemen.

Private sleighs are handsomely, some even splendidly, equipped. The
rich furs of the sleigh robes and the silver-plated harness with
its innumerable tinkling silver bells, the beautiful horses gaily
caparisoned with bright blue and crimson woven nets which cover their
quarters and spread back into the sleigh, thus protecting the occupants
from the kicked-up snow, combine in adding wonderful life and colour to
the picture of the Calea Victorie on a sunny winter day. When the snow
is deep enough, the smooth, rapid motion is very exhilarating; but if
one passes through a street which has been partly swept either by broom
or by the wind, the bump, bump over the paved street is anything but
pleasant. To rush swiftly along the Calea Victorie, then right on to
the end of the Chaussée with the keen wind just nipping the face whilst
the rest of the body is cosily enveloped in furs, is one of the most
delightful experiences of the winter in Roumania.

During this season you must protect yourself from the severe cold.
Sometimes it is so severe that men are to be seen with their moustaches
frozen quite stiff. I think, however, that as a rule Roumanians wear
clothing in the winter which is quite too heavy, as it renders them
much more sensitive to the cold. For instance, a man will wear over his
extra warm winter clothes an enormous overcoat lined throughout with
fur, and so heavy that it is a task to lift it. A fur cap on his head
and fur-edged snow-boots complete the out-of-doors costume.

Ladies and children also wear very heavy fur-lined coats, and over the
hat the inevitable “glouga,” a pointed cap something in the style of a
witch’s cap, made of stout cloth and with long ends that one can wind
round the neck and tie in a knot. The “glouga” is to protect the head
and ears, and is sometimes even worn by gentlemen.

Christmas is a very pleasant time, and I always enjoyed it, even
though it be the chronological misfortune of the country that Santa
Claus arrives a fortnight after the date upon which we used to expect
him at home. Some time before Christmas the boys belonging to the
different church choirs parade the streets singing at every door much
after the fashion of our own waits, and carrying a large banner in
the shape of a star. As there is a small light placed behind this, it
shows up well and is very effective in the dark streets. Naturally the
musicians expect to receive largesse, and it is not often that they
are disappointed, as Roumanians are very charitable and give readily.
Christmas is observed chiefly as a religious holiday, the real fête
being New Year’s Eve. Then it is that the families who have children
light up their Christmas tree and distribute the presents. Every
visitor must have a little remembrance from the tree, no matter how
small. Punctually at midnight champagne is brought in and drunk to the
accompaniment of much clinking of glasses and cries of “La mulți an!”
(A Happy New Year!), which resound on every side.

The houses are not decorated with holly as they are in England; indeed,
holly is never seen there. The present Queen of Roumania tried to
cultivate it in the park at Cotroceni, but without success. Mistletoe,
however, is very abundant, the best kind growing on the fir-tree.

My delight was great one Christmas Eve (the English colony always
kept their own Christmas) on arriving home to find a huge bunch of
mistletoe, with its waxlike berries, placed in my room. It had been
sent by Princess G----. It was a little attention prompted by a kind
thought, and I appreciated it. The innate politeness of the Roumanians
is constantly evidenced by similar acts of courtesy.

Roumanians as a rule are very kind and thoughtful for others, and
their hospitality knows no bounds. As a Latin race their sympathies
and affection naturally go out to the French, but my own observations
convince me that their respect and esteem are given to the English more
than to any other nation.




CHAPTER XXVI

SINAIA

 Sinaia and its summer Court--Gay life in the Carpathians--Court
     ladies in national costume--Sinaia at various seasons--The
     monastery and the Queen’s room there: she decorates it with
     caricatures of society ladies--A fête at the monastery--King
     Edward at Sinaia--Lord Roberts a guest there--The Crown Prince’s
     residence--Princess Marie’s “cuib” or “Crusoe” amongst the
     trees--Her sister, the Grand Duchess of Hesse--Little Princess
     Ella--A merry party in the woods--A tragedy recalled.


This lovely and fashionable resort is situated in the valley of the
Prahova, and is surrounded by mountains, which present no very great
difficulties of ascent to the ordinary mountaineer. Sinaia itself
consists, apart from its villa residences, of a casino, a small
concert-room, and a really fine bathing establishment. In the hotel
gardens a military band plays three times a week; on the alternate
days it is stationed in the forest, in the vicinity of a pretty little
restaurant on the road leading up to the palace. On this spot the
visitors delight to congregate and listen to the strains of the band.
There is no lack of seats, as wooden benches and even tables are
generously provided. To sit there inhaling the delicious perfume of the
pines, brought out by the warm rays of the sun, sipping at the same
time a glass of _țucia_ or other beverage, and lazily criticising the
passers-by on the road below, is an important part of the daily life at
Sinaia.

Sinaia is reached in about four hours by rail from Bucarest, and in one
hour from the Hungarian frontier, and is of course a most fashionable
resort. The Court goes there in summer to avoid the great heat in
Bucarest. Pelesch, the royal palace, is a fine residence, built by the
late King Carol. It is beautifully situated on an eminence backed by
the pine-clad heights of the Carpathians, whilst at the foot flows the
merry little river Pelesch, from which the palace derives its name.

The monastery at Sinaia is situated upon a high hill which is reached
from the valley below by sloping walks. It is a very fine building,
having been restored of late years, and is really worth seeing. At one
side of the building is a courtyard, around which are the apartments
allotted to the priests, as well as a few guest-chambers. Behind the
courtyard there is a stretch of green, from which one has a beautiful
view of the surrounding country. The road behind the monastery leads
past Castle Pelesch and on up into the mountains. As one gradually
ascends the incline, one admires the magnificent forest trees as
well as the profusion of ferns and wild flowers, which are here seen
in abundance. The river Pelesch rushes along on its way from the
mountains, and as it descends it forms three lovely waterfalls. The
road leads on up to the Carpathian peaks of Caraiman and Verful cu Dor,
whence one can see the Balkan mountains on a clear day.

Before Castle Pelesch was built Carmen Sylva often took up her abode
at the monastery. The room she inhabited is still shown to visitors,
and it is most interesting to anyone who has an extensive acquaintance
with Roumanian society, as the walls are covered with pencil drawings
done by the Queen, representing, on the whole very faithfully, the
features of one well-known lady after another. It is really amusing to
pick them out, as some have been caricatured and are not immediately
recognisable.

St Marie is the patron saint of the monastery, so on that saint’s
day, the 15th August, the poor of the surrounding country are regaled
by the Archimandrite and the priests. Large tables are placed in the
courtyard, round which are seated the visitors. They are then served
with _borsch_, a sour soup, in which float small pieces of meat, with
_mamaliga_ cheese, onions, and large flat loaves, the whole washed down
with a mug of the thin red wine of the country. Each peasant receives a
plate and mug, which he is at liberty to take with him on leaving. All
the visitors then at Sinaia go up to watch the proceedings, and very
interesting they seem to find it, as crowds are attracted every year.

Residence in Sinaia is sometimes prolonged till far into the autumn.
Naturally a good deal of Court etiquette is left behind in Bucarest,
with the result that the royal family as well as the members of the
Court amuse themselves very well indeed. Tennis (golf has not yet
reached Roumania), paper-hunts, and excursions into the Carpathians are
among the distractions.

The late Queen, Carmen Sylva, and all the ladies of her Court
invariably adopted the Roumanian costume when the Court was at Sinaia.
This costume is very picturesque. The petticoat, of a light material,
woven by the peasants, is embroidered at the bottom. A wide-sleeved
blouse is also richly embroidered, and with it is worn a straight piece
of embroidery falling from the waist to the edge of the petticoat. A
double skirt, opening in front, shows this embroidered panel. The main
part of the costume is completed by a sash wound many times round the
waist.

If the wearer be a young girl, she wears a row of broad Turkish gold
coins round her forehead (this represents her dowry) and a flower
behind her ear. In the case of a married lady a veil is worn fastened
to the head and falling to the waist. After a woman is married she is
not supposed to show her hair, at any rate among the peasantry.

The custom of wearing Roumanian costume when in residence at Sinaia
has, I regret to say, been abandoned since Queen Marie came to the
throne.

No guest of the royal family can ever leave Roumania without paying
a visit to beautiful Sinaia. The late King Edward visited it when he
was Prince of Wales, and I was once shown an old photograph in which
he figures standing erect on a rock with Prince Ferdinand at his side,
whilst a little lower Carmen Sylva is seated, surrounded by the ladies
of the Court. The photograph was taken during an excursion in the
mountains. Lord Roberts also spent a few days at Sinaia. He came with
his suite to announce to their Majesties the accession of King George.
Before leaving, he most kindly received the few British residents who
were then in Sinaia, the late Queen being also present and chatting
most affably with everyone, as she could easily do, being so very
proficient in the English language. Mrs Spender Clay (_née_ Miss Astor)
and her brother Waldorf Astor have also been frequent visitors of
Princess Marie.

The family of the Crown Prince and Princess did not live at Castle
Pelesch in the lifetime of the late King. Their own residence was
situated a short distance away. It was of the shooting-box style,
built entirely of dark wood, surrounded by a nice roomy verandah.
The gardens and terraces in front and at one side of the house were
wonderfully pretty. At the other side one walked right into the forest.
As their family increased, this house became too small, so another was
built still nearer to Castle Pelesch. It is a fine house, much more
pretentious than the “shooting-box,” but to my mind not half so pretty.
The old house is now reserved for visitors.

In the neighbouring forest Princess Marie, as she then was, had a
“Crusoe” constructed. I understand that she adopted the idea from a
celebrated arboreal restaurant in the Forest of Fontainebleau which is
named after the castaway of Juan Fernandez.

A strong wooden platform was constructed amongst the trees at a
considerable height from the ground, and upon this was built a house
consisting of two rooms, a kitchen, and a salon.

The kitchen is fitted up with everything necessary for cooking simple
dishes or preparing tea. The salon is very prettily furnished, and
books in plenty, drawing and painting materials, etc., are always to be
found there.

The Queen only takes her special friends to visit her “Crusoe,” and a
very charming retreat it is. The windows and open door command a most
beautiful view. Access to the “Crusoe” is gained by means of a ladder
with wide steps, which is let down when required. When the visitors
are safely ensconced in their leafy retreat the ladder is drawn up,
and they remain there shut in on three sides by foliage and cut off
from communication with the world below save by telegraph, for a wire
connects it with the palace. Nothing disturbs the perfect calm and
quiet at such a height, and many pleasant hours have been spent by her
Royal Highness and a chosen few in that little nest. Nest is indeed the
word, for that is the meaning of the Roumanian name “cuib” by which the
retreat is generally known.

The Grand Duchess Cyril of Russia, sister to Princess Marie, was a
frequent visitor at Sinaia. At the time of her last visit she was still
Duchess of Hesse, as she divorced the Duke of Hesse some time later.

She was accompanied by her little daughter, a merry little soul, but
not by any means to be compared with her cousins so far as looks were
concerned. I often met the child playing about in the forest near the
castle, attended by a nursemaid. Although so young, she was an expert
horsewoman, and well do I remember one day meeting a riding party of
three, the Grand Duchess, her little daughter, and Princess Elizabeth.
The two children were in a merry mood, and as the way led past a group
of cottages they had evidently made up their minds to “cut a dash.” I
heard one of them say, “Now let us go at full gallop,” but the Grand
Duchess nipped their aspirations in the bud, as I heard her reply,
“You will do nothing of the kind, you will just go past quietly.” I
remembered that merry party and the happy laughter floating back to
me on the breeze when later I heard of the tragic fate of Princess
Ella, and the memory caused the sad news to strike more sharply home to
me. Perhaps in England the foul deed to which I refer did not excite
so much sorrow, but to us who had known the child it was a terrible
tragedy.

Little Princess Ella was on her way to Russia in company with her
father, to visit the Czar and Czarina; they were met at a small
frontier town by their Majesties. Tea was served here, but it appears
that no one happened to partake of it but Princess Ella. Immediately
after swallowing the tea she complained of feeling ill, and although
medical help was at once available she succumbed a few hours later.
Her mother was telegraphed for, but the child was already dead when
she arrived. It was understood that the tragedy was the outcome of an
anarchist plot directed against the life of the Czar. It was by the
merest chance (if there be such a thing as chance) that neither his
Majesty nor the Czarina felt inclined for tea.

One scarcely knows when Sinaia is at its best, whether in summer when
the royal parterres and the gardens of the different villas are all
a mass of colour, the brilliant sunshine lighting up the scene, and,
beyond, the peaks of the Carpathians stretching far up into the sky;
or in winter, when the ground is thickly carpeted with snow, and every
branch and twig stands outlined against the sky. After a sharp frost,
when the sun breaks through the clouds, lighting up the frozen branches
and turning them into silver, the scene is fairy-like.

Sinaia is also not to be despised in autumn when the foliage is
beginning to change. It is a real pleasure to wander through the woods
and to feast one’s eyes on the different tints of the changing leaves.
The dark green of the pines, mingling with the lighter green, yellow,
and crimson of the other trees, makes a blend of colour that delights
the eye.

For more than twenty years I spent a few pleasant weeks of each year at
Sinaia, where I have frequently been a guest at the beautiful country
home of the late Madame Take Jonescu, amongst others. I have visited
the lovely place at every season of the year, and know it in all its
varying moods.




CHAPTER XXVII

 Franz d’Este and his morganatic wife at Sinaia--My recollection of him
     at Vienna--Society girls with cold feet--The German Crown Prince
     was popular at Bucarest--But he was only there a fortnight--The
     King and his “shadowers”--Predeal--The leap over the frontier--A
     little smuggling--A beautiful and historic road.


The Archduke Franz d’Este and his morganatic wife, the Fürstin
Hohenberg, whose murder at Serajevo by a Servian student was the
ostensible reason for the outbreak of the Great War, visited Sinaia
in the lifetime of the late King Carol and Queen Elizabeth. They were
received there in a very private circle, no public reception being
accorded them, as of course the Fürstin, not being of the same exalted
rank as her husband, could not have taken her place at his side. When
the Archduke went to the Spanish wedding as representative of the
Emperor of Austria his wife accompanied him only to San Sebastian, and
there awaited his return.

Franz d’Este was not a pleasant person, and when I was a girl in Vienna
I heard many stories of his escapades and of those of his equally wild
brother the Archduke Otto. The Emperor was constantly obliged to call
them to account. Many of the stories were no doubt exaggerated, but
I understand that the often-told tale of how Franz d’Este stopped
a funeral procession and leaped his horse over the bier was well
authenticated.

I remember very well skating one afternoon at a place by the Stadt
Park, near the Ring Strasse. Franz d’Este was amongst the skaters, and
he was distributing his favours pretty impartially amongst the crowd of
young society girls. They stood huddled in a crowd, and not one would
move till Franz came to claim her. Poor things! They must have had cold
feet, but I suppose they thought it worth while.

The German Crown Prince spent a fortnight in Bucarest some years ago,
and I presume that he was also taken to Sinaia. Of that, however, I am
not quite sure, as I was away at the time. Anyhow, I am certain of one
thing, and that is, that he made himself most agreeable to the ladies
of Bucarest, winning golden opinions on every side.

Germans are not liked by the Roumanians, but the Crown Prince was an
exception. He admired the ladies of society very much, and was greatly
taken by their toilet. I daresay he gave many a hint to his wife
regarding her dress on his return from Roumania.

At the dances in the palace the Crown Prince never waited for a formal
arrangement by the Master of Ceremonies. In the case of a young friend
of mine, he simply took her by the hand when the music started and
said, “Let us dance this together.”

On taking leave of the Roumanian officers who had been attached to
his suite, he presented each of them with a photograph of the German
Emperor, simply saying, “My father wished me to give you this.”
All this absence of formality delighted the Roumanians, who like to
dispense with ceremony themselves. But of course we must remember that
the German Crown Prince only stayed in Roumania for a fortnight, and
since then his character seems to have developed in an extraordinary
way.

The late King and Queen of Roumania liked to stay at Sinaia as
long as they possibly could. King Carol’s desire was to live as
simply as possible and to stroll about the woods without any guard
whatever. Of course, a guard could not be entirely dispensed with,
but private detectives were employed to follow the King in his walks
as unobtrusively as was possible. Poor men! I think they had a hard
time of it trying to carry out their instructions. I met the King
and Prince Ferdinand one day walking in the woods, and some distance
behind followed two rather shabby-looking men. They behaved in such a
suspicious way, taking cover behind every tree or bush if they thought
the gentlemen were about to turn, that if I had not been aware of their
identity I should have thought they had designs on the King. They were
detectives who were really concerned for the King’s safety, but they
were obliged to be careful, as his Majesty was always very angry if one
of them crossed his path.

The road from Sinaia to Predeal in the Carpathians is beautiful and
full of interest. There is a gentle incline for a considerable part
of the way, till the road finally reaches its culminating point at
Predeal, on the frontier between Roumania and Transylvania.

Predeal is a pretty little village with a great many villas scattered
about, as it is a favourite summer resort for the inhabitants of
Bucarest. It is surrounded by pine forests, and these, together with
the health-giving air (Predeal is situated at the highest point of the
Carpathians), attract a great many sufferers from chest complaints. I
spent a summer once in Predeal, and enjoyed it very much. The village
is of course Roumanian, but our villa happened to be built just a few
yards over the boundary on Hungarian soil. The Hungarians were very
anxious that people should settle on their side, therefore they gave
special facilities for building purposes. To mark the boundary there
was a deep ditch running from the forest high up behind our house right
down to the road. This ditch was constantly patrolled by a Hungarian
soldier, who sternly prohibited any crossing into Roumanian territory
except by the legitimate means at the barrier on the road further down.

Now, as most of our friends lived on the Roumanian side, the fancy
often seized us to pay them an evening visit. But to travel all the
way down to the road was not to be thought of when the crossing of the
ditch was so easy. Therefore we used to watch for the favourable moment
when the soldier was up near the forest, take a flying leap across the
ditch, and land safely on Roumanian territory before the sentinel could
return. When he did arrive he could do no more than hurl threats after
us, as he could not leave his post.

Crossing the boundary with forbidden commodities was always attended
with a certain amount of risk. What an anxious moment when one was
requested to come into the office, and how great was the pleasure
afterwards when one was successful in smuggling through certain
articles! Lengths of muslin pinned in front under one’s skirt, cakes
of soap hidden in the hat, chocolate in the bag or under the saddle of
one’s bicycle, what a pleasure it was to get them through! The Customs
officials may strongly suspect that something is hidden, but they
must not touch or search the _person_ unless they are certain. Should
they do so and find nothing, it is then a punishable offence. We had
a number of fowls which we had brought with us from Bucarest, but the
grain to feed them had to be kept on the Roumanian side, as the duty on
it was very high. Every time that the supply ran short we had to cross
the boundary wearing cloaks or loose jackets. On returning, each person
had a small parcel concealed under these garments, so the fowls had
what they required and the Hungarians were none the wiser.

The road from Predeal down into the Hungarian plain is one of the most
lovely I have ever seen. It begins at the summit of the mountain,
gradually descending in lovely curves, with beautiful glimpses of the
valley beneath. When one finally reaches the plain it is charming to
look back at the heights from which one has come.

How often have I cycled down from Predeal to Kronstadt, enjoying to
the full all the lovely scenery _en route_! I have made many enjoyable
excursions in the surrounding mountains, and one of these particularly
is in my memory as I write.

We started from Predeal one fine summer morning on foot, preceded by
two lads carrying our basket of provisions. As we walked at a brisk
pace down the road, we had still time to admire the dancing shadows
caused by the sun shining through the trees that thickly bounded the
road on each side. After a walk of half an hour we struck off to the
right, and, after crossing some upland meadows and ascending the steep
mountain-side for some time, found ourselves at the opening of a rocky
gorge. The gorge was so narrow that there was just enough space for
one person at a time to pass along the footpath, made of rough boards.
By many turns and twists and sudden little jumps from one platform to
the next lower down, we managed, with a good deal of difficulty, to
arrive in the valley beneath. The slight bruises that we had sustained
in the descent were now speedily forgotten, and we greatly enjoyed our
lunch, supplemented as it was by the wild raspberries and strawberries
which were growing there in abundance. As our party was mostly composed
of Britishers, the inevitable cup of tea had to be provided. A little
spirit-lamp was placed in the most sheltered corner we could find, and
set alight. Just as we were in hopes that all was going on well and
that the water was near boiling-point, a sudden puff of wind came along
and blew out the flame. Time after time this tantalising experience
was repeated. At length one of the party, a clergyman, undertook the
difficult task of getting the water boiled. To see him on his knees,
anxiously shading the flame with his hat, his hands, his whole body,
and softly ejaculating sundry remarks when the spiteful little puff of
wind succeeded in getting in between and undoing all his work, offered
a spectacle which helped to solace the others. I am sure if he had not
been a clergyman he would have said something wicked. However, in the
event, we had to content ourselves with tea made of lukewarm water;
and although the Roumanians of the party did not seem to mind, we
Britishers decidedly disliked it.

When one returns in memory to the scene of so much pleasure and
enjoyment, it becomes impossible to imagine the bloody struggle that
recently was enacted there. That beautiful road leading up to Predeal
was probably cut up by the German heavy guns, the splendid forest trees
torn to splinters, and all the merry animal life scared away. It is sad
to think of the beautiful village of Predeal being even temporarily in
the hands of the enemy, and of the number of valiant Roumanians who
there made the supreme sacrifice.




CHAPTER XXVIII

 A delightful equestrian excursion--We leave Sinaia in order to
     witness the sunrise from Omul--Midnight in the forest, and the
     ghostly hours before the dawn--Gathering edelweiss whilst we
     await the sunrise--A glorious spectacle--The coveted province
     spread out before our eyes--An equestrian quadrille on the summit
     of Omul--The guest-house of the monastery--On the homeward
     way--We descend the Jeppi on foot and meet with unexpected
     difficulties--Danger follows upon danger--A dreadful night on a
     mountain peak--Excitement at Sinaia--Triumphant return of the
     “heroes” and “heroines.”


A party of us, twenty in number including guides, set out on horseback
one evening from Sinaia in order to ascend the Omul and view the
sunrise next morning. The moon was just then at the full, and, as
our way led by a very steep pathway up the mountain, we could catch
glimpses from time to time of Sinaia with its twinkling lights far
below. About 1.30 a.m. we stopped to rest the horses, the guides (who
were really only horse keepers) made a roaring fire, and we feasted
royally on tea and cozonak.

It was sheer delight to sit there and drink in the pure mountain air,
and the delight was enhanced by the eerie feeling induced by the
solemnity of the hour (when it is said we are nearest the unseen),
and by the awe-inspiring influences of the vast silent forest which
surrounded us on every side. After a time we broke the spell, and songs
and jests went merrily round. We were loth to resume our journey, but
we knew that the sun would not wait for us, so the order to march was
at last reluctantly given. The guides started to gather in our horses,
which had been hobbled near at hand, but mine could not be found.
Search was made in every direction, but all in vain--the horse was not
to be found. At length one of the gentlemen of the party kindly offered
to lend me his mount with the proviso that it should be returned
to him when mine was recovered, as his was such a fast trotter. To
this I willingly agreed, so off we started again, leaving a guide to
recover the lost horse, which I may at once say he did later on. Just
at 3 a.m. we arrived at the summit of the Omul, the highest peak in
the Carpathians. I felt cold at such a height, although I was well
wrapped up in a fur coat. Until his majesty the sun deigned to make his
appearance we occupied ourselves in gathering edelweiss, which grew
there profusely. It is very highly prized, chiefly I think because of
its inaccessibility, growing as it does only at such altitudes; but to
my mind it is by no means a pretty flower. Indeed, edelweiss always
suggests to me flowers cut out of a piece of grey flannel.

As the supreme moment drew near for the rising of the sun, we were
enjoined to fix our eyes on a certain bank of grey cloud, and not
to lose sight of it for a single instant. We obeyed, and in a few
seconds a tiny crimson line appeared above the bank of cloud. This line
gradually grew broader and broader as the sun rose higher, giving one
the impression that some great being was behind it pushing it further
and further up. Finally, the glorious sun in all his beauty shook
himself free from the cloud trammels and flooded the surrounding peaks
with radiant light.

The view from the Omul is altogether glorious. The whole province of
Transylvania with its lovely valleys, lakes, and winding streams is
spread out before one’s eyes--that province so long coveted by the
Roumanians, which they have now justly secured for their own.

After a slight refreshment, for which the keen mountain air had given
us an appetite, we again mounted our horses in order to proceed to the
monastery at which we were to dine. Again one of the horses was missing
(this very often happens on these excursions), so, whilst waiting till
the guide found it, the rest of us formed up on horseback to go through
a quadrille. These country horses are very wiry and are splendid for
travelling in the mountains, but graceful they are not. Their awkward
movements, as we tried to induce them to go forward, then to retire,
were so comical that we could scarcely retain our seats, we laughed so
much.

When the missing pony was at last found, and we had calmed down a
little, we resumed our journey. Some stiff climbing, a good gallop over
undulating country, the fording of a few shallow rivers (nearly all the
rivers in Roumania are shallow), and we arrived at our destination.
How glad we were to bathe hands and faces in the little brook that
babbled along through the fields, then to rest ourselves luxuriously
on the wide verandah of the guest-house, knowing that pretty soon our
appetites would be satisfied with the simple fare of the monks!

As visitors are only expected during the summer months, the
accommodation is of the most primitive kind. A tolerably large room is
given up to the guests, well furnished with plenty of hay, in which
to pass the night. Ladies sleep at one end, gentlemen at the other;
and really, after a day’s hard riding one sleeps very well amongst the
hay, and is even thankful to have it. On this particular occasion,
however, we only remained for dinner, which was served on rough wooden
tables (minus tablecloths), whilst we sat round on equally rough
wooden benches. The fare was simple, but we enjoyed it thoroughly.
The inevitable _mamaliga_, sour cabbage, eggs and _yaort_, a kind of
thick preserved milk, formed the principal dishes of the repast. After
many expressions of our grateful thanks to the monks who had so kindly
entertained us, and after offering a trifling gift to the church, we
started on the return journey, hoping to arrive in Sinaia about 7
o’clock p.m.

But man proposes, God disposes. The old lesson was taught us again.
It had been decided by the gentleman in charge of the expedition (who
claimed to have an intimate acquaintance with the mountains) that we
should descend the Jeppi on foot, and so, after two or three hours’
ride from the monastery, we dismounted, and the horses were led back by
another route. Two of our so-called guides came with us to help us in
the descent, but what a descent! We had first to cross a grassy slope
in order to reach a spur of the mountain from which the real descent
began. The short grass had been made so slippery by the heat of the
sun that it was with great difficulty we could keep our feet; indeed,
at one time some of us were reduced to crawling upon our hands and
knees. From the edge of this grassy slope there was a sheer descent of
very many feet. A false step would have meant, if not actual death,
certainly a broken limb.

Our relief was great when the dangerous stage of our journey was passed
(as we thought) and we arrived on the peak of the mountain for which we
had been aiming. But what was our horror to find that our situation was
as bad as before, if not worse! Imagine twenty people crowded together
on an outstanding spur of the mountain, that terrible grassy slope
behind us, and before us even worse conditions. At the first glance I
thought it would be a sheer impossibility to descend on foot, and that
nothing but a balloon could rescue us from the situation if we refused
to return as we had come. From where we stood the mountain seemed to
fall away directly beneath us, nothing intervening between us and the
beginning of the wooded slopes far below but huge boulders that it
seemed utterly impossible to get over or get around. What were we to
do? After much discussion, it was decided that one of the gentlemen
should act as pioneer and discover if the descent was practicable. He
was to hail us if he reached the forest in safety. Mr B----, who had
a reputation for athletics to sustain, was obviously the man for the
task, and he set off willingly, our fears for his safety being perhaps
intensified by our anxiety for our own.

After what seemed an interminable time, a cheery cry reached us from
amongst the distant trees, and no further time was lost in arranging
our own departure. We went--as the animals are said to have entered
the Ark--two by two, in this case a lady and a gentleman together.
A considerable distance was maintained between each couple, as the
danger from displaced boulders was great. It was a horribly difficult
and a really dangerous descent, and it took a long time for us all to
reach the head of the Jeppi in safety. But so far from our troubles
being over, it seemed as though they had only just begun. The darkness
was so great on the wooded mountain that it would have been highly
dangerous to even attempt to continue our way without more guides. The
moon was just at the full, but no ray of light penetrated the thick
foliage by which we were surrounded. To add to our troubles, one of the
ladies of the party lost the use of her limbs through sheer fright; she
could literally not stand on her feet. In this dilemma it was decided
that one of our guides should descend to Poiana Țapuliu, the nearest
village, and send up more guides and a horse. Our situation was far
from enviable, as we huddled together against a shelving bank at the
foot of which ran the narrow pathway leading to the valley below. We
were afraid to move, enveloped as we were in thick darkness, and having
been warned that a sheer descent of unknown depth lay at the other side
of the path. As the time dragged slowly on, we wondered what the people
in Sinaia were thinking about us. Some of the livelier spirits tried to
cheer up the party with song, but without much success. One restless
young fellow would insist on moving about on the narrow pathway, to
the terror of his sister, and indeed of us all, as we feared he would
stumble in the darkness and fall over the precipice. Finally, to our
great delight, voices were heard in the distance and lights began to
twinkle. It was the guides who had come to rescue us, each one with a
blazing torch.

It was with great difficulty that the order of descent could be
arranged, as so little space was available. However, at length the lady
who was incapacitated was safely seated in the saddle, with a guide to
lead the horse; the other members of the party, each one with a guide
to lean on, fell in behind, and we slowly began the descent. What a
journey that was! Shall I ever forget it? Stumbling over the thick
undergrowth, slipping on patches of frozen snow, only kept from falling
and rolling down the mountain by a frenzied grip on the guide’s arm:
it was a wonder that no further accident happened. But none did, and
eventually we all arrived safe and sound at the base of the mountain,
there to be received like so many heroes and heroines. The whole
population of Poiana Țapuliu was astir, bonfires had been lighted, and
carriages were in waiting to drive us back to Sinaia.

Instead of reaching there at 7 p.m. as had been intended, we arrived
between 1 and 2 a.m. The excitement was great; all sorts of rumours had
been afloat as to what had happened to us when we did not appear at
the hour appointed. As a friend told me afterwards, the road between
Sinaia and Poiana Țapuliu had never been so animated--carriages passing
to and fro, cyclists and foot-passengers, all anxious for news of the
missing party. Sinaia is a small place, and such long excursions in the
mountain are of rare occurrence; and besides, the members of the party
belonged to the best-known families in Roumania. Fortunately, there
were no bad results from our expedition. Even the lady who suffered
from temporary disablement was quite restored to health after a few
days’ rest. It was the principal guide who came in for the greatest
amount of blame, as it was considered by expert mountaineers a very
risky proceeding indeed to bring ladies down by the Jeppi.

None of us were likely to forget our experience that night; but as
nothing very untoward happened, we were able to laugh about it all
later on.

Since then I have made many excursions in the Carpathians: twice have
I been on the Omul, several times on the Caraiman (where we were
overtaken once on the summit by a snowstorm and were able to pelt each
other with snowballs), but never have I had such an adventure as that
of the Jeppi.

Before leaving the subject of the Omul, which, by the way, means “The
Man,” I shall briefly relate the legend connected with it. It appears
that a shepherd called Marco had the temerity to aspire to the hand
of his master’s daughter. As he was a good, faithful fellow, and the
daughter herself favoured his suit, the master agreed to give his
consent to the marriage on condition that the shepherd would ascend
the Omul and there spend the winter. The shepherd at once consented,
and at the beginning of winter he made all his preparations for a long
absence. He left his flocks in the care of his friends in Sinaia, then
put into his knapsack some maize, cheese, and a few bottles of _țuica_.
When all his arrangements were made, he went to the monastery to burn
a candle to St Dimitri and to kiss the holy ikons, after which he set
out to make the ascent of the Omul, accompanied only by his dog. As he
neared the summit snow began to fall heavily, but still he hurried on.
At last the goal was reached and he found himself on the lofty summit.
There was no sign of animal life--the bears and other animals had all
sought the warmer air of the regions below.

Although no shelter was to be had on the summit of the rock, still, as
the legend runs, the man and dog survived throughout the bitter winter.

With the coming of spring, the young shepherds, Marco’s companions,
decided to climb to the summit of the mountain and discover how he
had fared. Very joyously they set out, each one with his primitive
instrument of music. As they approached the summit their delight was
great on seeing the dog run to meet them, but alas! there was no sign
of the dog’s master.

When the summit was gained, however, they caught sight of Marco
standing on a rock, living, breathing, but incapable of movement.
His companions called him by name. He recognised them and strove to
approach them, but his limbs failed him and he fell to the base of the
rock on which he had been standing. When his friends reached the spot
they stood sorrowfully around him. He spoke but a word to them, and
then died.

On the very spot on which he died his friends made his grave. A cross
was erected to his memory, and anyone who takes the trouble to ascend
the Omul may still see the remains of it.




CHAPTER XXIX

 Cholera in Russia--I hurry back to Roumania--I am put in quarantine
     on the frontier and liberally disinfected--The soldier guard aims
     his gun at me--My Jewish room-mate and her obtrusive husband--She
     plays “Patience” whilst he prays and expectorates--I get my
     release and send a military expedition in search of a mirror--Miss
     R---- tries to escape from Russia--Her companion, a German
     engineer, develops cholera--The terrified peasants place them
     together in an empty cottage--The German dies--She finds, when
     after a terrifying experience she reaches Bucarest, her hair is
     snow-white.


As is pretty well known, cholera has never yet been entirely stamped
out of Russia. Roumanians are naturally on the alert lest the dread
disease should be introduced into their country, and, thanks to the
excellent arrangements made by them on the different frontiers,
cholera has never yet succeeded in establishing itself on their side.
I happened to be in Russia one autumn when the cholera was pretty bad.
Frightful tales were brought in as to what was taking place in the next
village--“people dying by the score, numbers being buried in one common
grave,” and so forth. Whether they were true or not, these stories
frightened me so that I determined to leave at once and try to re-enter
Roumania. The journey through Russia was anything but pleasant, all
the railway carriages reeking of disinfectants. On arriving at the
Roumanian frontier, the train was stopped on the bridge over the Pruth
close to the little village of Ungheni. We were received by the doctor
and a number of officials, one of whom at once demanded the keys of our
trunks. Everything was pushed into an enormous stove, and steamed there
for fully twenty minutes. We were then conducted to our apartments.
Four or five peasant cottages had been cleared of their inhabitants,
and were placed at the disposal of the travellers. I shared one of
the rooms with a lady and her children. Every morning a soldier
entered with a bottle (_vaporisateur_) of disinfectant and liberally
besprinkled us and our clothes with it; so thoroughly was it done that
my clothes reeked of the stuff for months afterwards. Towards mid-day
another soldier presented himself with the menu from the station
restaurant. Not knowing Roumanian very well then, I had no choice but
to point to some dish on the menu; and whether it were fish, flesh, or
fowl, it had to be eaten. If I had refused it and chosen another dish,
I might have fared still worse.

We were guarded by soldiers and attended by soldiers. Indeed, so very
strictly were we guarded that, one day going a few paces beyond the
range marked out for us, a sentinel actually aimed his gun at me. After
that, thinking discretion the better part of valour, I overstepped
the limit no more. I was obliged to stay in quarantine for five days,
paying two francs a night for my bed, and providing myself with food
also. The lady who shared my room at the beginning left after two days,
and her place was taken by a Jewess who arrived from Russia with her
husband. They were a most amusing couple. She sat on her bed all day
playing at “Patience.” He in the corner of the room, with a hand-towel
over his shoulders in lieu of a praying shawl, recited the prayers for
the day, every now and then turning to expectorate, and most probably
calling down blessings on the Christians. The husband was lodged in
an adjacent room with another traveller, but was constantly coming in
to ours to visit his wife. One morning he came at such an early hour
that I had not finished dressing. I was very angry, but controlled
myself as well as I could. After a few minutes he went back to his own
apartment to fetch something, only to return almost directly. But I had
been quicker than he. In those few moments I had barricaded the door.
His disgust was great when he found he could not get in, and quite
plainly I could see his form silhouetted on the white window-blind as
he took his revenge by putting his fingers to his nose. His wife looked
stolidly on at all this byplay, but made no remark. She made no attempt
whatever to interfere with me; so I was free to dress at my leisure,
and then, and not till then, did I open the door. At the next visit of
the doctor I complained to him about the too frequent visits of the
Jew, so he promised that I should not be annoyed again.

When finally the day arrived that I was free to continue my journey,
I felt that I should like to look into a mirror before setting off.
But no such thing was to be had in any of the houses. Finally, after
diligent inquiries prosecuted through the soldiers, I learned that two
gentlemen who occupied a little cottage not far off were the lucky
possessors of such an article. The soldier was at once despatched with
a polite request for the loan of the mirror. It was at once granted, so
I was able to see how I looked after five days’ quarantine. Soldiers
accompanied us to the station, and saw us safely into the train; but
our passports were not restored to us till we had arrived at the town
of Jassy _en route_ for Bucarest.

On one of the frequent occasions when cholera became epidemic in
Russia, a young English governess with whom I had some acquaintance met
with one of the most tragical experiences I have ever heard of.

Miss R---- accepted a holiday engagement with a family in Russia
at some distance from the border, and as it was her first visit to
that country she looked forward to it with the greatest interest and
pleasure. For a time all went well, but at length cholera broke out in
the neighbourhood and spread alarmingly. Poor Miss R---- was terribly
frightened. She was the only foreigner in the place with the exception
of a German engineer who was engaged on some important work in the
district, and who, she soon found, shared her nervousness. The two
decided to leave, but the family with whom she was living thought that
such a course would be a very foolish one, and sought to dissuade her
from it.

Finding her still determined, her employers placed practical obstacles
in the way. The place was situated very many miles from the nearest
railway station, and they refused to supply her with a carriage or a
vehicle of any sort. The German was for a time no more successful, but
at length he did obtain a _karutza_, and the two set out upon a journey
that was destined to have a ghastly termination.

They had scarcely reached the first village when the German fell
ill, his symptoms clearly indicating cholera. Overcome with horror,
Miss R---- abandoned any attempt to proceed to the station, still
many miles away, and sought help in the village. It was a practically
hopeless quest. She knew no word of the language, and the villagers,
terrified of the cholera, would have nothing to do with her or her sick
companion. The latter knew a little Russian, and at length in response
to his solicitations the two were shown to an empty cottage on the
outskirts of the village, and here they took up their quarters. What a
situation for a young English girl! Left in a remote Russian village,
alone, save for the companionship of a sick stranger of another race,
and without the means of making known her wants even if the villagers
had been able or willing to assist her!

Food and water were thrust through the window, but no other help
whatever could be obtained. There was no doctor in the place, and she
had no means of even appealing to her late employers. Faced by this
terrible situation, Miss R---- braced herself to meet it and acted
as an Englishwoman might be expected to act. She did her best for
the German engineer, but the poor man, lacking medical attention or
even drugs or restoratives of the simplest kind, was doomed from the
first. He rapidly grew worse, and after a day and a night of terrible
suffering, which his unhappy attendant could do little to mitigate, he
died.

Miss R----’s situation, alone with the dead body, was scarcely better
than it had been before, and she became resigned to the worst that
could befall, feeling assured that the villagers would not help. What
was her surprise, however, when, upon finding out that her companion
was dead, they so overcame their fears as to take the body away and
bury it!

Two days later--having apparently conferred amongst themselves in the
meantime--they brought a _karutza_ to the door and invited her by signs
to enter it. She was then driven to the railway station, and eventually
reached Bucarest in safety. When she encountered her friends there they
uttered exclamations of surprise and even of horror, for the hair of
the young girl had turned completely white.

It was the greatest mercy that Miss R---- succeeded in getting through
to Roumania in safety, as the Russian peasants often become quite crazy
when cholera is about. They accuse the doctors of fostering the disease
for their own ends, and often refuse to have their sick attended to. In
one district they worked themselves up to such a pitch of madness that
they attacked a hospital, dragged the patients out of bed, forced them
to return to their own homes, and completely put to rout both doctors
and nurses. Needless to say, numbers of deaths occurred in consequence
of these terrible acts. Cholera is never really stamped out in Russia;
it is usually hanging about the remote villages, and it takes toll of a
certain number of lives every year.




CHAPTER XXX

 The beggars of Bucarest--A plan that failed--Was it inspired
     by Count Rumford’s Munich scheme?--Where the beggars spend
     their holidays--No lack of charity--Footless, and yet wanted
     boots--Influence of priests and beggars on the currency--A stroll
     through the market--Servians as market gardeners--An exhibition
     in Bucarest--Princess Marie and the water-chute--Excessive
     gambling--The Moși--English “stupidity”--Nothing to buy
     in London--Bucarest to London _via_ the North Sea and
     Edinburgh--Jefferson Bricks in Bucarest.


Beggars form a prominent feature of life in the East; and Roumania
being considered the end of Europe and the beginning of Asia, the
country is not lacking in this characteristic. Beggars swarm in the
streets, and are of all kinds. There is the familiar beggar who has his
accustomed pitch; the beggar who has a wound to exhibit; the beggar who
is, or feigns to be, a bit crazy, and twirls himself singing all down
the street. He is, however, always sensible enough to clutch the coin
one offers him.

The practice of begging is winked at by the authorities, as otherwise
they would not know what to do with the beggars. I remember once there
was a change of Government, and sweeping reforms were going to be made
by the incoming party. The first reform was to be the clearance of
beggars from the streets. A notice was issued that all beggars were to
assemble at the police stations in their respective districts on a
certain day. This was done, and great hopes were entertained that at
last we should be rid of this nuisance. Next day we eagerly searched
the newspapers for an account of the proceedings, and how disappointed
we felt, and how futile it all seemed, when we found that it closed
with the words, “The beggars were then dismissed, as no one knew what
to do with them”!

I have a strong impression that the plan was inspired by some
recollection of the work done so successfully in Munich by that
most remarkable of men, Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford, the
English-American soldier, statesman, and scholar, from whom the famous
_englischen Garten_ derived its name (one wonders if it bears it still).

The “rounding-up” idea, although it was not planned with the genius of
a Rumford, nor carried out with the success which rewarded that great
man’s efforts, was recognised as having something practical about it,
and it remains a cherished practice of the Bucarest police. Before a
fête-day, such as the anniversary of the coronation, the police round
up every suspected person, pickpockets, etc., and put them safely under
lock and key till the festivities are over; and then they are set at
liberty again.

Although the authorities accept no responsibility in regard to beggars,
still there are many private societies formed to help them. One such
society issues little books consisting of ten pages. Any charitably
disposed person can buy a book for a franc and then distribute the
leaves as he wishes. One page entitles the beggar to a basin of soup
and a piece of bread. On presenting two pages he is entitled to a piece
of meat. It is a capital plan, as one feels that one is really feeding
the hungry (if hungry they be) and yet not giving them money to waste
on other things.

Roumanians are very charitable, and will seldom refuse a beggar. That
is probably why there are so many. As they are not used to refusals,
they are very insistent, and sometimes I have had a beggar follow me
for quite a long distance, droning out his customary formula, till
losing patience I have threatened him with the police. One poor little
girl always excited my pity--a child of about eleven or twelve. She
had lost both feet in an accident, but she was such a bright, cheery
little soul that it was a pleasure to see her. She was always carried
to a certain corner by a big boy, who then retired and watched over her
from a distance. I always gave her a small coin, for which she was most
grateful; but one day she highly amused me with the request, “Do please
give me a pair of boots.” Seeing that she had no feet, I was at a loss
to understand what use the boots would be to her, but I could get no
enlightenment from her, only a smile and a repetition of the request,
“Please, a pair of boots.”

The coins used in Roumania are _lei_ and _bani_, the equivalents
of francs and centimes. The smallest nickel coin is five centimes.
Several attempts have been made to introduce one- and two-centime
coins, but after a time they have invariably disappeared from the
currency--withdrawn, as I have been told, for very obvious reasons by
the priests and the beggars.

It is very pleasant to stroll through the market on a fine summer
morning. On all sides there is a wild riot of colour which delights
the eye. There are the fruit stalls piled with oranges, pomegranates,
dates, green grapes of the native variety, and grapes of light amber
hue from Constantinople. Scarcely less effective are the vegetable
stalls with their bright-red tomatoes affording a brilliant contrast to
the fresh greens of cauliflower and cabbage. Here, too, are radishes
and _pimonts_. Then there are stalls with mushrooms of all varieties,
stalls with cheeses, stalls with golden butter and white and brown
eggs, and every here and there are mounds of melons. Some of the melons
are of the yellow variety, but there are also plenty of water melons,
with one here and there cut open to display the luscious pink interior.

Roumanians do not grow all the vegetables that fill the market--often
they are largely due to the labour and care of foreigners. I stayed for
some weeks near Pitesti, a small country town, in the neighbourhood
of which a number of Servians came to settle for the summer months.
They rented a large plot of ground and grew vegetables of all kinds.
They were most industrious and looked well after their produce. When
the melons were ripening they even took it in turns to sit up and
watch all night, so that would-be thieves might have no opportunity
of helping themselves. Very often through the night we were startled
by a rifle-shot. It was only the Servian on guard who fired from
time to time to advertise his wakefulness. Two or three times a week
a big waggon was loaded with produce and driven for miles round the
country, even to Sinaia and beyond. Their produce was eagerly bought,
as vegetables are not too abundant, especially in these summer resorts.
When the market gardeners were quite sold out they retired to Servia
with their profits, where they remained till next season. It must have
been a profitable enterprise, as fifteen Servians were engaged in it at
the place I speak of.

The exhibition that was held in Bucarest some years ago was very
creditable to the country, seeing that it was the first that had
ever taken place. All the ordinary produce of the country was
exhibited--cereals, fruit, cheese and butter, huge blocks of rock-salt,
etc. The home industries of the peasantry--carpets, Roumanian costumes,
embroidery, pillow-lace and fine lace (the making of the latter being
taught in the schools)--formed perhaps the most interesting feature.
A miniature crèche was also shown, fitted with all modern appliances
for the little ones. Although the exhibition was “International,” the
exhibits were mainly Roumanian. Some neighbouring countries took the
opportunity of showing their wares, and Germany was represented by a
display of automatic pianos.

Servia and Bulgaria sent embroidery, carpets, also broad leather
waist-bands in which folk put their money. The colours employed in the
carpets were rather crude, but the work was very good.

One of the most effective exhibits, and that which showed the greatest
taste in its arrangement, was the hall in which the Roumanian industry
of cigar and cigarette making was shown. The entire hall, a fairly
large one, was inlaid with cigars and cigarettes arranged in various
fanciful designs. Small stacks of cigars tied with the Roumanian
colours were placed at intervals down the middle of the hall, whilst
gaily-decorated boxes of cigarettes of all sizes formed a sort of dado
round the wall. A number of young girls, dressed in Roumanian costumes,
busily engaged in the making of cigarettes, packing the boxes, etc.,
completed a picture that would strike the eye of an artist.

Elsewhere was an interesting exhibition showing the improvement in the
treatment of prisoners as contrasted with that of former times. The old
cell was small and badly lighted, with grimy walls and low ceiling; the
modern cell, though also small, had a high ceiling, a good-sized window
letting in plenty of light and air, and whitewashed walls, making
altogether a neat, clean appearance. The clothing of the prisoners had
also undergone a change for the better, as was shown in the figures in
each cell. Close by was the hall in which work done by prisoners was
on view. Well-made carpets, matting of cocoa-nut fibre, fancy articles
carved out of wood, all testified to the ingenuity of the prisoners.

The grounds of the exhibition were beautifully laid out, flowers
growing everywhere in profusion; but sufficient space was reserved for
the various amusements, the favourite one being the water-chute. This
form of diversion was popular with everyone, but more especially with
the present Queen, who took great delight in it. Several times she made
the trip alone--that is, only with the man in charge--as the plunge
into the water was so much more exciting when the boat was not heavily
laden. Unfortunately, during the summer a quarrel arose between the
Americans in charge of the water-chute and the exhibition authorities.
Whatever may have been the cause of the dispute, the result was that
the Americans were obliged to leave the exhibition, the management of
the “chute” being given to a Roumanian company.

Rumours were rife that jealousy of the Americans’ “takings” was at the
bottom of the trouble. Whether that was so or not, I cannot say.

Gaming-tables were numerous, at which roulette, trente-et-un, etc.,
were played; but stakes were so high, and the sums of money that
changed hands so enormous, that the police were obliged to intervene
and forbid all gambling in the exhibition.

It was most enjoyable to lounge away an afternoon in the lovely
grounds, listening to the strains of the string band or the varied
music of the _lautare_; and when the exhibition was finally closed it
was greatly missed, as Bucarest is rather wanting in outdoor amusements
in summer.


THE MOȘI

The Moși, or great annual fair, which is held in the month of May,
probably embraces all the usual features of fairs the world over. Its
special distinctions are that it assumes the importance of a national
exhibition, and that the fair grounds, which occupy a vast area on the
outskirts of Bucarest, are always visited by royalty.

The Moși generally lasts for ten days, and during that time the traffic
in the Calea Moșilor, which leads to the grounds, is the scene by
day and night of a practically continuous procession which not only
includes every kind of noise and extravagance incidental to our Derby
Day, but can also boast of many picturesque features unknown in the
progress to the classic race. The residents in Calea Moșilor deserve
and receive sympathy during this stirring time.

For the peasants the Moși is a great national festival, and, attired in
their gay costumes, and driving in ox-waggons canopied with boughs of
green, they add much to the picturesqueness of these varied scenes.

The first Thursday of the Moși is the great day when royalty honours
the scene with its presence. Both Carmen Sylva and the present Queen,
with their characteristic kindness of heart, always “did” the show
thoroughly, and by the extent and variety of their purchases gladdened
the hearts of an incredible number of stall-holders.

Is there a fair anywhere in the world without gingerbread? I remember
it in this connection in my native Ireland, and I have met it at fairs
in many parts of Europe since. The Moși adheres to the gingerbread
tradition, and displays the popular delicacy (if it be a delicacy) in
every conceivable variety. It is an unwritten law that no one, high or
low, must return from the fair gingerbreadless.

Of course you may eat what you like at the Moși, but the local
connoisseur knows well that the true gastronomical feature of the fair
is an excellent small garlic sausage which I know Queen Marie tried on
at least one occasion and commended very highly.

I feel a slight consciousness of disloyalty now when I acknowledge
that the Turkish stalls particularly attracted me. The beautifully
fine embroidery, with small squares worked in gold and silver thread,
the gorgeous carpets, the wide-sleeved blouses of delicate texture,
richly embroidered in silk, the quaintly decorated pipes with beaded
stems, and many other attractive articles of Ottoman origin, afforded
opportunities for “fairings” of quite distinctive character.

In various country districts fairs are held at stated seasons of
the year. At Campulung, where I once spent the month of July, I was
delighted to watch the peasant girls going to the fair dressed in all
the finery of their national costume, many of them wearing curious
billy-cock hats, and all with neat shoes and stockings.

There was a bench opposite to our house, and here the girls on
returning from the fair always sat down and divested themselves of
their fine shoes and stockings, which they carefully wrapped up in
paper, proceeding on their way both light of heart and light of foot.

It is all very well to describe and criticise a country one visits,
but it is also amusing to hear the criticisms of one’s own country
and people from those who have visited it for the first time. I was
gravely informed once by a gentleman who had been in London for a few
weeks, and who spoke no English, that the English were “very stupid.”
Asked to be a little more explicit, he informed me that when he wished
to visit the docks of London he experienced the greatest difficulty
in making anyone understand where he wanted to go. He stopped a cab
and said to the cabman, “Promenade, dock,” but cabby shook his head
and did not understand. He then spoke louder, and a crowd began to
assemble. Again and again he said “Promenade, dock,” but still no one
understood. At last a policeman put him into the cab and drove with
him to the nearest big hotel, where the mystery was explained. “But,”
the gentleman asked me, “why did they not understand? Promenade is the
same word in English as in French, and dock is dock.”

A lady visited London with her husband for the first time. They had
rooms at the Hotel Cecil, and were very much interested in seeing the
sights, but the complaint of the lady was, “Oh, the shops are not
up to much; there was absolutely nothing to buy.” The remark rather
staggered me for a moment; then I ventured to name some of the big
shops in Oxford Street and Regent Street. It was all of no use: she
still persisted in her assertion. She had been in Paris shortly before,
where she was tempted to buy at every step; but in London, “No, there
was nothing to buy!”

Another lady and gentleman whom I knew started with their son on a
visit to Norway. They had no idea what a sea voyage was like, and after
being buffeted about in the North Sea for a day and a night, they much
wished to be put on shore again. Although the full passage-money had
been paid, the captain agreed to land them at Leith and to refund part
of the money (at which they were very much astonished). For a time they
made their headquarters at Edinburgh, visiting the Trossachs and the
surrounding country. Their admiration for Scotland was unbounded, more
especially for Edinburgh, with which beautiful city they were charmed.
Norway could not be more beautiful, they thought; they had lost nothing
whatever by their change of plans. With occasional stoppages, the
travellers made their way to London. The size of the metropolis, the
traffic and the order with which it was controlled, the numerous parks,
all excited their wonder and admiration; but still London did not charm
them as Edinburgh had done.

I was once at an evening party in Bucarest where some Roumanian
current events were being discussed. They were by no means matters
of importance. Suddenly a lady turned to me and asked, “What do the
English say about it?” I was rather embarrassed for a reply, but at
last managed to suggest that perhaps they knew nothing of the affair.
The lady was highly indignant. “We,” said she, “know all that goes on
in England and France, but the people there never seem to know anything
of us.” I pleaded guilty on their behalf, and remembered Jefferson
Brick and his friends.




CHAPTER XXXI

 Roumania’s early history--Michael the Brave--Stephen the Great--A
     Spartan mother--Brancovan’s noble efforts bring about his
     end--Oppression promotes union--Greek extortion--Russia and
     Turkey--The Westernising of Roumania--The Treaty of Paris--The
     European Commission--The new State of Roumania--Prince Cuza and
     his fall--The siege of Plevna--Roumania’s present aims.


I had been some time resident in Roumania before I made any study of
the history of the country and its people. I found authentic material
very difficult to obtain, and had continually to reconstruct the
information I assimilated.

Roumanian history did not attract me until I came to know and
appreciate the people; and if I have (as I sincerely hope is the case)
enabled my readers to share my interest in some degree, I now owe it to
them to give some slight historical account of our allies and of the
land which they inhabit. Indeed, it is necessary to know something of
the history of the country before we can appreciate the causes which
were the determining factors of Roumania’s participation in the war. It
is a country with a future full of hope and promise, and it deserves to
be better known than it is.

Roumania was, as its name implies, a colony of ancient Rome. It has
been suggested that it was a penal colony, but of this there is
certainly no authentic proof. Many Roumanians hold the belief that
they are, as a people, descended from the Roman colonists of the time
of Trajan, but those of them who are versed in history do not by any
means make a definite claim to this effect.

Before the Roman epoch very little indeed is known of the country,
and the scanty historical accounts concerning it are conflicting.
With the thirteenth century begins the authentic history of the two
principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia, but it is by no means the
history of a united people. These two principalities developed on
distinct lines, and each had its separate annals.

Later on, as they fell under the dominion of the Turk, a more uniform
system of administration was adopted, native princes governing in both,
but always subject to and under the control of the Porte. Of these
native princes the most important were Michael the Brave, Stephen the
Great, and Constantine Brancovan.

On the Boulevard in Bucarest there stands a fine bronze equestrian
statue of Michael the Brave, Prince of Wallachia. He it was who in
concert with the then Prince of Moldavia partially freed the country
from the Turks. His plans for the aggrandisement of his country
succeeded so well that he invaded Transylvania, seized the reins of
government, and secured his proclamation as prince of that province.
Transylvania was afterwards conquered by the Hungarians, and ever since
it has been the ardent wish of every Roumanian to regain this desirable
territory.

After the death of Michael, the Turks gradually regained their old
power over the country, a succession of princes reigning over it who
were still obliged to buy their appointment at Constantinople.

Stephen the Great, Prince of Moldavia, was also a man of great courage
and resource. In one of his campaigns against the Turks his army at
first was forced to give way, and he is said to have fled to his own
castle for refuge. Upon his demand for admission, a lattice opened and
his mother appeared. She, like the Spartan mother of old, refused to
admit him, seeing he came not as conqueror but conquered.

Her words animated both him and his followers to such a degree that
they resolved to die rather than yield. They marched once more against
the foe, and defeated them completely, forcing them to recross the
Danube.

Constantine Brancovan, Prince of Wallachia, considerably furthered
the internal well-being of the country, which had never been so
prosperous as during his reign. But this prosperity, becoming known
at Constantinople, only increased the exactions of the Turks.
Notwithstanding that all the demands were punctually met, the Sultan
thought that Brancovan was becoming too powerful, and therefore an
envoy was sent to Bucarest with instructions to depose him. The Prince
was conducted to Constantinople and quietly beheaded, and after his
execution the Turks introduced a new system. The line of national
princes ceased. Those who were now appointed were mostly Greeks, the
office being sold to the highest bidder.

Hereupon ensued a period of grinding oppression, the Greeks squeezing
as much as they could out of the peasantry, the consequence being
that numbers of them emigrated. By degrees the two principalities of
Wallachia and Moldavia came to recognise the need for a closer union in
face of the common foe.

Towards the close of the eighteenth century the Russo-Turkish war took
place, at which time Austria profited by the situation to arrange with
both parties for the cession of Bukovina, a richly wooded province of
Moldavia. At the conclusion of peace Russia restored all the Danubian
principalities to the Sultan, but with certain stipulations in favour
of Wallachia and Moldavia. The treaty, however, was shortly afterwards
violated by the Turks, who recommenced their old system of extortion,
till, in 1802, Russia once more asserted her treaty rights in favour
of the oppressed inhabitants. It was at this time that the Turks ceded
Bessarabia, a fertile province of Moldavia, to the Czar.

Although these arrangements were made with the Turks, the ostensible
rulers of the two principalities, Russian influence still seems to
have been predominant. Indeed, until the beginning of last century the
Russian consul at Bucarest was all-powerful. The revolutionary movement
of ’48 extended even to the two principalities--their real object being
the overthrow of Russian influence. In order to quell the disturbance
Russian troops entered the country, whereupon the reigning princes
fled to Vienna, leaving the government to their ministers. Great
suffering was at this time inflicted on the inhabitants, but finally
the Austrians induced the Russians to withdraw.

One important consequence of the rebellion was the banishment of many
rising politicians to Western Europe, where they were brought into
contact with a higher type of civilisation. Statesmen received their
political training abroad, and returned to educate their countrymen.

The practice then began of sending Roumanian students to French,
German, and Italian universities. To this fact we may attribute the
rapid progress of Roumania as compared with the other Balkan States.

I may here incidentally remark that D. Stourdza in one of his articles
strongly repudiates the assumption that Roumania is one of the Balkan
States.[3]

The Treaty of Paris guaranteed the privileges of the two
principalities, whilst still recognising the suzerainty of the Porte.
As a little sop to their pride, part of Bessarabia, which had been
taken by the Russians, was now restored to Moldavia.

The Great Powers at this stage decided to keep a protecting eye upon
the two principalities, and therefore a European Commission was formed
to revise the existing laws and statutes, taking at the same time
into consideration the opinions of the representative councils of the
country.

At the first sitting the councils voted unanimously for the union of
the two principalities in a single state under the name of Roumania,
to be governed by a foreign prince from one of the reigning houses of
Europe.

To this the European Commission, recognising that union is strength,
declined to agree, deciding that the principalities should continue to
be governed by their own princes. But the Roumanians were too clever
for the Commission, and succeeded in getting their own way by the
simple device of both principalities electing the same prince, namely,
Prince Cuza. And thus it was that the union of the two provinces was
accomplished.

At the beginning of his reign Cuza reigned very wisely. Reforms in
many departments were due to him, and he founded the universities of
Bucarest and Jassy.

Later on he tried, unfortunately for himself, to concentrate all power
in his own hands. This caused great dissatisfaction, and his dissolute
conduct increased his unpopularity. The leading statesmen thereupon
conspired to dethrone him. The palace was quietly entered one night,
the Prince awakened out of sleep and informed of their decision.
There was no use protesting. He allowed himself to be escorted to the
frontier, then proceeded to Italy, where he died some years later. His
widow returned to Roumania, and died there only a few years ago.

So secretly had the plans of Prince Cuza’s deposal been carried out
that very few people were aware of what had happened till next morning,
when the news ran like wildfire through the capital. How his successor
was appointed has been told in the romantic story of the advent of King
Carol.

The siege of Plevna took place during the Russo-Turkish War of 1877.
The Russians sustained several defeats at the hands of the Turks, and
the outlook for them was decidedly gloomy, when the Roumanians under
Prince Carol crossed the Danube and came to their help.

At first the Russians were inclined to treat the small Roumanian army
with scant regard, considering it “a contemptible little army,” but the
soldiers soon showed of what mettle they were made (just as the men
of our own “contemptible little army” did), and under the efficient
leadership of Prince Carol speedily succeeded in turning the tide of
victory.

One would have thought that the Russians would show themselves grateful
to the friend in need. Their “gratitude” was shown by the announcement
that they intended to regain possession of the portion of Bessarabia
which had been ceded to Moldavia after the Crimean War, giving the
Roumanians in exchange the Dobrudja as far as Constantza. As Bessarabia
is a very fertile province, whilst the Dobrudja is just the contrary,
this proposed exchange aroused great indignation at Bucarest, but,
as is too often the case, might served instead of right, and the
Roumanians were finally obliged to yield. For a long time after this
relations with Russia were strained, some of the leading statesmen
even trying to promote a better understanding with Austro-Hungary. But
the strong anti-German feeling in the country worked against this,
and finally various other causes contributed to a sort of passive
preference for Russia.


FOOTNOTES:

[3] This view does not, however, by any means meet with general
acceptance. In conversation recently with a highly-placed Roumanian of
scholarly attainments, this gentleman argued convincingly that Roumania
is, beyond doubt, one of the Balkan States. Every great movement in the
Balkans, he pointed out, has originated in Roumania, or has at least
been participated in by that country.




CHAPTER XXXII

 Turkish influence on Roumanian mind and manners--The origin of
     the people--Clearly descended from the Romans of Trajan’s
     day--Collateral evidence of Latin origin in the language--Pride of
     race--Roumanian literature.


Although so many years have passed since the Roumanians shook off the
yoke of the Turk, still many little indications remain to show that
Turkish influence on mind and manners has not yet totally disappeared.
For instance, I was quite amazed one day to learn that the mother of
a highly placed official could neither read nor write. Asking for an
explanation of this singular state of affairs, I was informed that the
lady in question, being of the older generation, had been brought up
when the country was still under Turkish influence. The Turkish women
were never allowed to read or write, so all fear of intrigue outside
the harem was thus avoided. Roumanian women of that time were brought
up in a similar fashion. Of course, nowadays, even in Turkey, all this
is changed: education has found its way into the harems; languages,
music, and sciences are studied, with the result that Turkish women
are amongst the most highly educated of the present time. Those who
have read Pierre Loti’s books on present-day life in Constantinople
will understand the change that has taken place in the harems in regard
to education. Roumanian ladies of the present day are also highly
educated.

It is not considered proper for a young Roumanian girl, or even a young
married woman, to walk alone through the principal streets in Bucarest;
and as to travelling alone, even a short distance, that is quite out of
the question.

A young girl whom I knew was very stout, and took so little outdoor
exercise that I expostulated with her mother. The mother then confided
to me that she did not wish her daughter to be seen often out of doors;
she preferred her to live a rather secluded life till she should become
engaged. There again was an example of Turkish influence, as we all
know how their women are forced to live a secluded life, and are never
permitted to go on foot on the few occasions when they may go out of
doors.

It is no part of my present purpose to deal at any length with the
vexed question of the origin of the Roumanian people. I have both read
and heard a great many views expressed on the subject, but as these
have been of the most conflicting character they have not helped me
much. The most stupid view of all is that persistently expressed by
many ill-informed Germans, who, because they are aware that there is a
certain Sclavonic element in the country, contend that the whole of the
Roumanian people are Slavs.

The Roumanians are of course a Latin race--that is as clear as noonday.
They are, however, like ourselves, a very mixed race. That fact is made
sufficiently clear in the sketch I have given of the history of the
country. Nations and tribes have overrun their land times innumerable,
as other nations and other tribes have overrun our own; but whilst
“Saxon and Norman and Dane are we,” with the characteristics of these
races now well blended (except perhaps in some remote provincial
quarters), the Roumanians have retained, in what must be considered a
remarkable degree, the language and characteristics of the people from
whom they have clearly sprung, viz. the Romans of Trajan’s day.

It is not only to history that we may look for proof of this assertion.
Were the history of the country unknown, its language would demonstrate
the Latin origin of the people. It has much in common even with
the Italian spoken in the present day; and as I am acquainted with
that language, I would instance a great many words which could be
readily understood by Roumanians, so much do they resemble their own
equivalents. In fact, I had a friend from Genoa who was able to manage
very well in Roumania, though only able to speak to the natives in her
own language.

There is also something more than history and language to go upon. It
is very easy for a superficial observer to form conclusions with regard
to the Roumanians which are entirely wrong. The national indolence, the
disinclination to engage in industrial or commercial occupations, so
long responsible for failure to develop the resources of the country,
render it difficult to appreciate the true character of the people. It
is only when one comes to live constantly with them that one realises
the pride of race which lies behind their careless demeanour. It was
this pride which rendered the Germanisation of Roumania an impossible
task even for King Carol to accomplish, and which the enemy had to
reckon with in the late war.

I have endeavoured in these pages to present as faithfully as was in
my power a picture of the everyday life of the Roumanian people. If I
have failed to give my readers an impression of a thoroughly lovable
people, the failure is due to my lack of skill, and not to any lack of
appreciation of their many fine qualities.

There are no warmer-hearted people in the world than our Roumanian
allies. They are hospitable to an extraordinary extent, many of them
keeping a perpetually open house for their friends. They are extremely
charitable, and are invariably courteous and polite. Indeed, in their
consideration for the feelings of others they evince a delicacy of
perception which I have never seen equalled in any other people.

An Italian diplomat once told me that he did not wish for any
preferment, lest it should necessitate his leaving Bucarest, and I
could well understand his feelings.

Behind the _laissez-aller_ which hinders endeavour, the Roumanians have
a high order of intelligence. They have a quick appreciation of what is
best in all that we mean by “progress,” and are always ready to profit
by the example of others who may be more advanced in some directions
than themselves.

As I have indicated elsewhere, the Roumanians do not sufficiently
cultivate their native language, which indeed is to a serious extent
abandoned to the common people. Roumania has not produced very much
literature in the past which might have served to keep alive an
interest in the language, and the modern writers who have utilised it
in their works are few. The best known are perhaps the poets Eminescu,
Alexandri, and Bolintineana. The works of the first-named have been
translated into French and German, and those who are qualified to
judge credit him with possessing the fire of genius. His work has
been compared to that of Keats. V. Alexandri is _par excellence_ the
national poet. Bolintineana, who has achieved great popularity, is a
writer of ballads.

It may be that Roumanians have now found a stimulus to higher
endeavours, and will cease to be satisfied with a life of pleasure. But
even when considering the love of gaiety which is so distinguishing
a characteristic of the people, it is well to remember that they are
never happy unless they can make all those with whom they come in
contact happy also.




CHAPTER XXXIII

CONCLUSION

 Roumania’s object in the war--Hungary’s attempt to Magyarise
     Transylvania--Sympathy of the Motherland--“Awake, Roumania!”--The
     new boundaries of Roumania--Room for her people--“The Little
     Entente”--Safeguarding the peace of Europe.


Everyone, I should think, would be fully aware by now of the aims which
decided Roumania to intervene in the late war. To regain Transylvania
and see it incorporated in Roumania has always been the ardent desire
of every Roumanian, young and old. In olden times the province formed
part of the Roman province of Dacia under the Emperor Trajan. In
the eleventh century the Hungarians made themselves masters of the
land, which was then administered as a Hungarian province. In still
later years Transylvania was for a time a free country; but in 1868
it was once more given into the power of Hungary by Franz Joseph,
the late Emperor of Austria. From that time the Magyarisation of the
principality was steadily carried on, in spite of the bitter discontent
of the Roumanian element, which was by far the most numerous.

The Hungarian Government, it is true, faithfully promised to respect
the language, religion, and nationality of the Roumanians in the
country, but that promise was not kept. Hungarian alone was recognised
as the official language, and laws were passed within the past few
years aiming at the Magyarisation of Roumanian schools. Efforts were
even made to suborn the Roumanian clergy so that they might help to
this end.

The administration of the province passed altogether into the hands of
the Hungarians. The authorities controlled the elections so effectively
that the Roumanian element had no adequate representation in the
Hungarian Parliament. Considering that there were between three and
four million Roumanians in the country, justice demanded that they
should have adequate representation, but it was never conceded to them.
The Roumanians naturally did not take this treatment as a matter of
course. They protested most energetically both at public meetings and
through the press. How often have their public men been obliged to flee
the country and take refuge in Roumania for fear of the consequences of
their over-free speech!

When I was in Bucarest I made the acquaintance of a professor from
Transylvania who had been obliged to leave everything and depart, as he
had been too free in his criticisms of Hungarians and their methods.
According to their law, a certain number of years had to pass (five, I
think) before he would be permitted to re-enter the country.

About thirty years ago there was formed a Roumanian National party,
whose aims were to preserve the Roumanian language, Church, and
schools, and also to restore autonomy to Transylvania under the
suzerainty of the Hungarian kingdom. The petition of this party was
refused, and the leaders of the movement were severely punished. After
that the feeling became much more acute, every fresh act of aggression
on the part of the Hungarians calling forth demonstrations of sympathy
for their countrymen from the inhabitants of Roumania. How often have
I been awakened on such occasions by the crowd parading the streets
singing “Destaaptate-Romane!” (“Awake, Roumania!”), the national song
of the Roumanians in Transylvania, which was forbidden to be sung there
under severe penalties! When staying in Kronstadt I often used to begin
to sing this song unthinkingly, and what a chorus of “hushes” used to
stifle my efforts!

I began to write this book whilst the war was still raging and my
friends in Roumania were undergoing terrific trials. I have no
intention of dealing here with the sad times which now belong to the
past. I prefer to think of the hopeful future of the country in which
so much of my life was spent.

It is reassuring to know that in the new maps of Europe, rendered
necessary by the decisions of the Treaty of Versailles, the boundaries
of Roumania enclose as far as appears to be possible the whole of the
Roumanian people, with as few alien elements as possible included.

There remain without the boundaries, in the Tinok Valley, the Western
Banat, and in Macedonia, some five millions of the Roumanian people who
will be included in Jugo-Slavia; and, east of the Dneister, another
five hundred thousand will be included in Russia.

Many alien elements will remain in Roumania. The Jews, who, like the
poor, are always with us, will continue to be represented by a million
of their race. A great colony of Hungarians still occupies a territory
in East Transylvania; whilst a German population which settled in
Transylvania, Banat, Bukovina, and Bessarabia at various periods from
the thirteenth to the nineteenth centuries numbers about eight hundred
thousand.

There will still be found some Bulgarians, Turks, and Tartars in the
south of Bessarabia and the Dobrudja; Serbs, Poles, and Ukranians where
Roumania adjoins Jugo-Slavia, Czecho-Slovakia, Poland, and the Ukraine;
and a considerable number of Russian refugees belonging to a strange
religious sect called “Shoptchi,” who fled from their own country to
avoid persecution.

Of Roumania’s present seventeen million population it may be said that
some fourteen millions are pure Roumanians. Outside the country’s
boundaries Roumanians number over one million.

When we compare these figures with those which referred to pre-war
Roumania we will find that the country has cause to rejoice.

In 1916 Roumania had only eight million inhabitants, seven and a half
millions of whom were nationals, constituting only half the race. The
remaining half were citizens of alien countries.

If the ideals of the enlightened Foreign Minister, M. Take Jonescu (who
has always been such a sincere friend of Britain), are realised, a most
important step will have been taken in the direction of safeguarding
the peace of Europe. One may hope, indeed, that the clouds which
lowered so persistently over the Balkans will disappear for ever.

Czecho-Slovakia and Jugo-Slavia, M. Jonescu has pointed out, have
already entered into a defensive alliance; and he hopes that not only
Roumania, but Greece and Poland also, may join it, and that the three
defeated countries, Bulgaria, Austria, and Hungary, may ultimately
become members.

The maintenance of the different treaties entered into since the war
will of course be the great purpose of what M. Jonescu has described as
“The Little Entente”; but underlying this endeavour will be a sincere
desire to establish such personal relations as will facilitate the
settlement of various differences which are bound to arise from time to
time.


PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY NEILL AND CO., LTD., EDINBURGH.




Transcriber’s Notes

 ‣ Italics represented by _underscores_.

 ‣ Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.

 ‣ Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.

 ‣ Variations in hyphenation, spelling, and accents kept as in the
   original.

 ‣ Footnotes renumbered consecutively and moved to the end of their
   respective chapters.




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